


Common People

by AmariT



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bat Family, Batfamily Feels, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2018-12-27 00:22:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 47,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12069960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmariT/pseuds/AmariT
Summary: His whole life, Jason’s mom had told him his dad was Bruce Wayne, but he’d never been dumb enough to actually believe it. They lived in a rundown, one-room apartment in the worst part of town, and in every single picture he’d ever seen of that rich bastard he was wearing a suit or sipping champagne worth more than everything they’d ever owned.But if he wasn’t Bruce Wayne’s kid, then what the hell was he doing sitting outside the man’s office in Wayne Towers?





	1. Chapter 1

His whole life, Jason’s mom had told him his dad was Bruce Wayne, but he’d never been dumb enough to actually believe it. They lived in a rundown, one-room apartment in the worst part of town, and in every single picture he’d ever seen of that rich bastard he was wearing a suit or sipping champagne worth more than everything they’d ever owned. 

But if he wasn’t Bruce Wayne’s kid, then what the hell was he doing sitting outside the man’s office in Wayne Towers?

He glanced at the receptionist, a pretty lady that smiled his way when she saw him looking. She didn’t seem at all bothered by his presence, as if people barged in claiming they had Bruce Wayne’s kid every day. Maybe they did. Maybe he and his mom were just one in a long line of delusional gold diggers trying to take advantage of Bruce Wayne’s wealth and reputation to make a buck. 

He sank deeper into the overstuffed chair, trying to make himself as invisible as possible. He hadn’t realized things had gotten this bad. Yeah, it had been tough since Willis had disappeared, though even without the extra income he couldn’t say he was sad to see the asshole go. He thought he’d been doing a good job of making up the difference stealing tires and picking pockets, but apparently it wasn’t enough. His mom’s meds cost a lot. The heroin cost more. And maybe she was just high enough to think she could convince Bruce Wayne himself of the lie she’d told him about his father all these years. Maybe she was high enough to believe it herself. 

When the elevator bell chimed he braced himself for the inevitable security guards coming to escort them out, and was surprised to see a familiar face. It was that doctor woman who worked at a clinic in their neighborhood. Dr… He tried to place her name as she walked sternly towards him, and it wasn’t until she was kneeling in front of him, face only a foot away, that it came to him. Tompkins. Dr. Tompkins. 

“Hello, Jason,” she said. For a second he was surprised she remembered him out of all her patients. Then he realized she was probably only here because of him and his mom. Someone else must have told her his name. “You’re thirteen now, right?”

“Is that what they told you?” he asked. He didn’t want to give her any information that might contradict what his mom was saying. Why she’d lie about his age, he didn’t know, but they hadn’t exactly agreed on a story before coming.

She gave him a thoroughly unimpressed look. The same one she’d given him when he tried to tell her his multitude of bruises were from falling off his bike. In retrospect, it was a stupid excuse. He didn’t know a single kid that could afford a bike. “You were twelve when you broke your arm last year. I assume you’ve aged since.” Oh. She did remember him. He felt a pit in his stomach. Somehow that made this so much worse. 

She pulled a syringe out of her bag and he stiffened. “Are you afraid of needles?” she asked. 

“No,” he said immediately, defensive, and then wondered if he should have waited to answer until he knew what the needles were for. “Why?”

“We’re just going to take a little blood,” she said. A blood test. A _paternity_ test. They were going to test if he was actually Bruce Wayne’s kid, and fuck he definitely should have pretended to be afraid of needles. His mom was apparently doing her part, convincing them well enough to actually warrant the test. He should be doing his part to keep the possibility alive. As was, they were going to do the test, see he wasn’t Bruce Wayne’s kid, and he and his mom were going to get _arrested_. He glanced at the still closed door to Bruce Wayne’s office, and some of his nervousness must have shown through. When he looked back at Dr. Tompkins, her face had softened. “Let me ask you a question, Jason,” she said. “Do you think you’re Bruce Wayne’s son?”

He hesitated too long. He should have said yes immediately. Maybe come up with some quick off-the-cuff story about how much he always looked up to his estranged father. Hell, he should have been thinking about things to say the whole time he was sitting there. But he didn’t, and it was too late now. 

She pat his arm and smiled gently. “It’s okay. He won’t be mad. He might even do something to help you and your mom if you’re in a bad spot. He’s a good man.” 

Jason hesitated again, looking down at the needle she held in her gloved hand. “Really?”

“Yes.” 

He took a slow breath in, breathed it out, and then held his arm out for her to take the blood. The needle pricked uncomfortably, and for a second all he could see was his mom giggling with a needle stuck in her arm, blood streaking down her wrist when it fell out on its own and was left on the floor, used and forgotten. He swallowed as Dr. Tompkins pulled the needle out. “See, that wasn’t so bad,” she said. “This should only take about an hour. Do you want any books or something to drink?”

He shook his head automatically. Actually, he would love either of those, but he didn’t want to ask. He just wanted this to be over. Maybe Bruce Wayne would give them a chunk of cash. He’d have to keep it somewhere safe from his mom, so she didn’t spend it too quickly, but it would be nice. 

It would be a dream, is what it would be. Not reality. He needed to keep his hopes more realistic. Hell, a twenty would be nice. Not being escorted out by security would be nice. 

He offered Dr. Tompkins a weak smile as she left, then went back to staring at his hands.

***

When Dr. Tompkins returned, her face was much paler than it had been. That was just great. He probably had some deadly disease or mutation that she’d found in his blood while doing the test. Hey, at least that probably meant Bruce Wayne would be more likely to take pity on them. She offered him a harried smile as she strode straight through the room to Wayne’s office and knocked on the door. She entered a few seconds later, probably on an invitation he couldn’t hear.

His mom was still in there. It had been hours and he hadn’t seen her since she first marched in with his hand in hers and told the secretary that she was here to talk to Bruce Wayne about his son. He wondered if they were keeping them separated on purpose, so they couldn’t compare stories. It sounded like something they would do in those old cop shows he and his mom used to watch before they had to sell the TV for grocery money. 

He watched the door, waiting for some sign of what was to come. Even the secretary, who had been minding her own business the whole time they’d been there, was looking at the door curiously. It was taking longer than he thought it should. What could they possibly be talking about? He wasn’t Bruce Wayne’s kid, here’s some money to get out of his hair, and out they go. Or he was calling the police. He could still be calling the police.

He didn’t like how long his mom had been in there alone with Wayne. The more time they talked, the more likely she’d say something incriminating, that Bruce Wayne really didn’t need to know. That the police really didn’t need to know. He really hoped they weren’t calling the police. They were on the 80th floor. There wasn’t exactly an easy escape route if the police came.

Finally the door opened and Bruce Wayne appeared in it. He was a giant man, body completely filling the doorframe. He’d be intimidating as hell if he didn’t look so distraught. His eyes scanned the room before landing on him and staying there for several long seconds. Christ, whatever disease he had must be horrible if Bruce fucking Wayne was looking at him like that. 

Wayne swallowed, his Adam's apple slowly moving up his throat and back down. Then he walked over to Jason and knelt in front of him. 

“Am I dying?” Jason asked bluntly. Might as well get the bad news over with as quickly as possible. 

“What?” Bruce Wayne asked, the overly saccharine look on his face breaking with a small puff of laughter. “No. Why would you think that?”

“Why else would you be looking at me like that?” He waved his hand at Wayne’s face, and the man laughed again, seeming surprised at his own amusement. He caught Jason’s hand and held it between his two much larger hands. Why the hell was Bruce Wayne holding his hand? That needed to stop immediately. He tried to pull it back but Wayne held firm. 

“Jason.” He took a breath in through his mouth and slowly let it out. “You’re my son.” 

His first thought, when he was able to think again, was _how the hell did mom pull this off?_ He looked at her over Wayne’s shoulder and she beamed back at him. 

Wayne was still talking, apparently had been talking for some time while Jason’s brain was broken. “—set up a room for you in the manor.” 

“Wait, wait, what?” he asked, turning back to Wayne. The man was _still holding his hand_ and he yanked it back harder. This time Wayne let him go. 

“I said I’d call Alfred, our butler, to have him set up a room for you.” 

Jason tried to parse this, trying to figure out what exactly it meant, but his brain was still having trouble making connections. “For when I visit on weekends?” he asked, because it was the only thing that seemed to make sense. He had a friend that visited his dad every other weekend, but the thought of Jason doing that made his guts clench. He couldn’t leave his mom alone for that long, and to go stay at a strange man’s house? No way. 

“No, Jason,” he said, voice too patient. The kind of patient you pretend to be when talking to someone you think is too stupid to understand otherwise. “You’re going to come live with me.” 

His brain stuttered to a stop again and then roared to life fueled only by anger and panic. “That is not going to fucking happen.” Wayne winced at the curse, but fuck him. Maybe that would discourage him from wanting anything to do with Jason. Good.

“Jason.” 

“No! I’m not going to leave my mom. She needs me.” He looked at his mom, and her smile faltered but didn’t disappear.

“Your mother and I have already come to an agreement,” Wayne said. “You’re going to come live with me, and I’ll make sure that she has everything she needs.”

He stared at Wayne while his still sluggish brain tried to work through exactly what that meant. When it finally reached the only clear conclusion, he turned to his mom in abject horror. “You _sold_ me?”

“”It’s not like that, honey,” she said. “You’ll have a much better life with your father and—”

“You sold me,” he repeated. “For how much?”

“Jason,” Wayne said. He put his hand on Jason’s knee and Jason scooted as far back on the plush chair as he could. “Your mother told me a little about your living situation—” oh _fuck_ no “—and I, we both, think that you would be better off somewhere that—” no, no, no, no “—you don’t have to—” Wayne looked distastefully at Jason’s mom, and he wanted to hit that expression off the asshole’s face. Maybe he should. Maybe then he’d change his mind about wanting to take Jason home with him. “—work to support your mother.” He made it clear from the way he said it that he knew exactly what kind of work Jason had been doing, and that just made him want to hit him again.

“Then just give us some fucking money and I won’t have to!” he yelled. “Don’t take me away from my mom!”

Wayne’s lips formed a thin line. “I’m also concerned about the drugs.” Oh, great. Had his mom told Wayne _everything_ about their lives? He knew he shouldn't have left her alone with him. "I want to set her up in a program that will help and—" tell the authorities that she's using illegal drugs? No. Absolutely not. 

"Mom, please," he said, talking over Wayne. "Don't do this."

"I know you're upset, honey." She touched his cheek and he leaned his face against her hand. "But this will be better. For everyone." 

It wouldn't be better for her. He knew it wouldn't. It wasn't just the money. She needed him to make sure she didn't take too much of the drugs, and that she had enough to eat and drank some water. That she didn't just waste away on a never-ending high. "Mom, please."

"It's already been decided. It'll be better. You'll see. And you can visit me whenever you want."

He clearly wasn't getting through to her, so he turned back to Wayne. "I'm not going," he said. "I'm not."

"Jason, I know this is a shock and that it'll be a hard transition, but given time to adjust, I think you'll be happier here."

"Fuck you," he said. The nice secretary gasped, but Wayne didn't react at all. Apparently he'd already gotten used to Jason's cursing. He'd just have to try harder.

“I’m going to call Alfred and get everything set up,” Wayne said. “We’ll be leaving in fifteen minutes.”

Jason glared a hole in his back until his mom’s face filled his vision. She pressed her forehead against his. “I know you’re upset, baby, but this is what I want for you.”

He kept his voice low so only she could hear. “But what about you?”

She hesitated. He hated that hesitation and the whole world of tragedy that lived in it. “We both know I don’t have much longer left.”

Tears welled up in his eyes but he refused to let them fall. “That’s why I need to be with you,” he said.

“No, honey.” She held his face between her hands and squeezed her eyes shut. Tears were starting to streak down her cheeks and he stared at them, feeling numb. “That’s why you need to be somewhere else. Somewhere safe. I’ve thought a lot about what will happen to you when I’m gone, and I… I can’t let that happen. This is where you need to be. Okay? Please do this for me.” 

His shoulders were starting to shake, and he couldn’t stop them. It was like an earthquake rolling through, destroying everything he’d ever known. He couldn’t speak, so he just nodded.

“Thank you. Be a good boy for Mr. Wayne, okay?” He couldn’t promise that, so he didn’t respond. She hugged him tightly against her chest. “I’ll see you soon.” He nodded, and a few minutes later she was gone. 

Wayne came back wearing what looked like a custom-tailored trench coat over his suit, and Jason felt more out-of-place than ever in his dirty t-shirt and threadbare jeans. “Are you ready?” Wayne asked. No, he wasn’t. But this was what his mom wanted, so he took a deep breath and stood up, feeling like a man on the way to the gallows. Wayne put a hand on his shoulder and he immediately shrugged it off. Wayne’s hand hung awkwardly in the air for a few seconds before settling back by his side. “This will be good, Jason. You’ll see.” Jason didn’t respond, just marched towards the elevator, Wayne a few steps behind. "You'll meet your brothers soon and—"

Jason spun on him a few feet before reaching the solid steel doors of the elevator. "Look," he said. "I don't know what deal you made with my mother, but you are _not_ my father, and this will go a lot easier if you stop trying to pretend that you are."

Wayne looked at him for a long time, long enough that Jason started to shift uncomfortably. When he finally spoke, his voice was less consoling than it had been. "Dr. Tompkins ran the test twice, Jason. I'm your father, whether you like it or not, so you should try to start getting used to it now."

He clenched his hands into fists. "That doesn't make any _sense_. My mom always said, but... If you were really my father... then why the hell is this only happening _now_?"

"I don't know. I wish I did." He knelt in front of Jason again, and Jason hated that. Maybe he was trying to be more on Jason's level, talk face to face, but it felt like Wayne was speaking down to him. "I'm sorry I haven't been there for you, Jason. Let me make that up to you now."

Everything in him rebelled against the gilded promises of some rich asshole, but he forced himself to hiss, "Fine" through gritted teeth.

He smiled sadly. "It's a start."

The elevator dinged behind him, and he wondered when someone had pressed the call button. The poor secretary had probably very awkwardly inched around them to press the button and then fled as far away as possible. He turned and marched into the elevator before Wayne could say anything else. The man followed behind him, and they rode the elevator down in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next, Jason meets his siblings. 
> 
> The title is from [Common People by Pulp](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yuTMWgOduFM&pbjreload=10). The lyrics will be more relevant later in the story.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’d heard rumors about Wayne Manor. That it was the size of a city, with enough servants to justify having its own zip code. That it had more pools, tennis courts, baseball fields, and fountains than a public park. That there were ghosts of party guests who’d gotten lost looking for a bathroom still wandering the halls.
> 
> At first glance, the size one seemed true, the servants one seemed false, and the ghosts one couldn’t possibly be true because the butler had already shown him the location of seven different bathrooms and they weren’t even halfway through the tour of the first floor.
> 
> “Can you just show me to my room and leave me alone?” he snapped as they walked through yet another doorway. “I really don’t care about the…” He paused to look at the new room. It had dank, wooden walls and what looked like whips hanging from one wall and leather clothing hanging from another. “Murder room.”
> 
> “Tack room,” the butler corrected, the side of his mouth quirking up.
> 
> “Right, sure, whatever. That sounds way better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm honestly overwhelmed by the response to the first chapter. Thank you so much to everyone who left kudos or comments. It's really encouraged me to keep working on this story. I hope it lives up to your expectations!

He’d heard rumors about Wayne Manor. That it was the size of a city, with enough servants to justify having its own zip code. That it had more pools, tennis courts, baseball fields, and fountains than a public park. That there were ghosts of party guests who’d gotten lost looking for a bathroom still wandering the halls.

At first glance, the size one seemed true, the servants one seemed false, and the ghosts one couldn’t possibly be true because the butler had already shown him the location of seven different bathrooms and they weren’t even halfway through the tour of the first floor.

“Can you just show me to my room and leave me alone?” he snapped as they walked through yet another doorway. “I really don’t care about the…” He paused to look at the new room. It had dank, wooden walls and what looked like whips hanging from one wall and leather clothing hanging from another. “Murder room.”

“Tack room,” the butler corrected, the side of his mouth quirking up.

“Right, sure, whatever. That sounds way better.”

The butler opened a cabinet to reveal a stack of saddles. “It’s where we store the riding gear for our horses. Would you like to go out to the stables and meet the horses?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head so violently it made his neck hurt. “No, I do not want to meet the horses. I do not want to see Wayne’s private zoo or wild game preserve or the freakin'  _underground base where he keeps his alien specimens_. I want to _go to my new room_ and be alone.”

The butler knelt in front of him. He wished people would stop doing that. He might be thirteen, but he wasn’t a child. He hadn’t been a child for a long time. “I know you’re overwhelmed young sir, but—”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

The butler took a moment to consider him before saying, “You’re right, but I’d like to get to know you. Why don’t we start with you telling me what you’re interested in? I’m sure whatever your interests are, we can accommodate them here.”

Jason hesitated, looking around at the horse paraphernalia. Another rumor he’d heard was that Wayne Manor had more books that the Gotham Central Library. “What do you have to read?”

***

That rumor definitely turned out to be true. He wandered through the stacks of Wayne’s private library, hand brushing the spines as he walked. The butler, Alfred, had left him alone here for now, and Jason was grateful for it. His mom used to walk him to the closest library every Saturday morning, back before she was sick. His heart ached at the thought. He hoped she was doing okay at home alone. It had only been a couple of hours, but he couldn’t help but worry. There was too much that could go wrong.

Their local library only had a couple of rooms and maybe a thousand books, most of them old, used ones that had been donated. This place probably had a hundred thousand perfectly pristine volumes. Had anyone ever read them? They weren't dusty—which, good, because if they were he'd throw a fit—but the whole place looked more like a museum than the friendly mess he was used to. He was surprised there wasn't a sign that said, "Look, don't touch." He finally found a book with a creased spine—maybe someone read the books here after all—and pulled it out. _History of Japanese Fighting Styles_. It was amazing how nothing in this house made him feel even slightly safer.

He slowly slid the book back into place, eyes jumping from title to title. Every book in this section was on different fighting techniques. _The Art of War_ , _Agni Purana_ , _Royal Armouries_ , _Gladiatoria_ , _Paradoxes of Defense_. Okay then.

He walked stiffly to the next aisle, shoulders bunched up to his ears. There, surrounded by the familiar warmth of classic British literature, he felt like he could breathe again. _Wuthering Heights_ , _Jane Eyre_ , _Brideshead Revisited_ , _Great Expectations_. He felt a hysterical laugh bubbling up at that last one, but forced it down. He needed something light, that didn’t remind him of his current situation. He flipped through the pages of a few books before settling on _Robinson Crusoe_. He’d read it before, but it had been a while.

He’d barely settled into a chair when he heard a click like a cocking gun and stiffened immediately. Logically, he knew Wayne probably wouldn’t have brought him home just to shoot him, but what did he know? Maybe that was Wayne’s thing. Pretending all the kids people tried to foist off on him were his and then hunting them down in his own house, _Most Dangerous Game_ style.

He looked for the source of the noise and saw a flash of movement leaving the doorway. He continued glaring at the door, waiting for it to reappear, and slowly a silver and black shape moved into view. A camera.

Fuck no. He was not going to be in someone’s porno book. He stood and stalked towards the door, but before he reached it he heard a voice on the other side.

“Tim, what are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“Were you—”

Both voices silenced when he stepped into the hallway. It was the spoiled brats. They weren’t on as many magazine covers as their father, but enough that he already knew to hate them. The younger one was holding the camera. He was a scrawny little thing, which, hey, so was Jason, but he and his mom didn’t always have enough money for food. What was this kid’s excuse? With all the dough his daddy had, he should be the size of a walrus. The older one was also thin, but muscular, clearly an athlete. He thought he remembered something about gymnastics and Olympic tryouts. They both looked at him with wide eyes, but the older one recovered quicker. A big, if still uncertain, smile appeared on his face.

“Hi, I’m Dick,” he said, starting to step forward. Jason stepped back to stay out of reach and crossed his arms.

“Why is Stuart Little taking pictures of me?” he asked.

Dick blinked, momentarily thrown by the name. “Sorry, Tim just really likes his camera, and hasn’t quite learned that it’s rude to take pictures of people without their knowledge yet.” His voice turned stern at the last part and he stared down an equally stubborn Tim.

Tim jutted out his lip. “They’re _better_ when people don’t know you’re taking them. You get what people actually look like, instead of just stupid smiles.”

“Yeah, well, take another picture of me without my knowledge and I’ll smash the camera, got it?” Jason said.

They both stared at him for another minute. Did high society people always look so dumb or did he just bring out the worst in them? Then Tim grinned.

“See?” he asked. “If I had caught a picture of that moment, it would have been _awesome_.”

“Uh, right,” Dick said, slowly and not so subtly stepping between Jason and Tim. “I think we got started on the wrong foot. Let’s try this again. I’m Dick. This is Tim. He’s _eleven_.” He said eleven like it was supposed to convince Jason to leave the brat alone. By the time Jason turned eleven, he was already working the tourists. Dick waited for Jason to say something. When he didn’t, Dick prompted, “You’re... Jason?”

“Sure am.”

Dick waited for him to say more. He was going to be sorely disappointed. After a few seconds, he continued, “And you’re... thirteen?”

“Sounds like you already know everything you need to know about me.”

“You’re from Crime Alley, right?” Tim asked, peeking at him from behind Dick. Jason’s eyes darted to him. Kid seemed way too excited about that.

“Yep.”

“What’s _that_ like.” He was definitely too excited. He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, clearly itching to get closer but not yet willing to push past Dick to do so.

“There were a lot less rich assholes, that for sure.”

Dick frowned in disapproval, but Tim lit up like he’d just heard the ice cream truck round the corner. There was something seriously wrong with that kid. If Jason had to guess, probably brain damage from the last person Tim took unsolicited pictures of knocking some sense out of him.

“Have you ever witnessed a crime?” he asked, eyes wide and bright.

“Lots of them.”

“Ever committed a crime?”

“Tim!” Dick exclaimed, sounding downright scandalized.

“What?” Tim asked. “I’m just checking to see if he has street cred.”

“Okay, look, squirt," Jason said. "You can’t say street cred while wearing that shirt.”

“What’s wrong with it?” he asked.

“You look like an Ivy League freshman on their way to their first lacrosse meet.”

Tim looked down at his button-up plaid shirt, khaki pants—seriously, what kind of asshole puts an eleven-year-old in khaki pants?—and loafers, and said, “I think you have no idea what people wear while playing lacrosse.”

“Caught me.”

“If I change can I ask you about your street cred?”

Wayne rounded the corner with raised eyebrows while Tim spoke, and Dick looked like he’d just seen God himself descend from the heavens to create a geyser of water in the middle of a desert. “Dad! Great.”

Wayne surveyed the scene, placing his hands on Dick and Tim’s shoulders. “I see you two have met your brother.”

“Yeah,” Tim said. “He’s neat.”

“Neat?” Jason repeated.

“He threatened to smash my camera,” Tim continued, not sounding at all bothered by this.

Wayne eyebrows, which were starting to return to normal, rose higher than before.

“Hey! He was taking pervy pictures of me.” Jason was no snitch but Tim struck first so striking back was fair game.

Dick covered his mouth with both hands and looked at him with what appeared to be genuine horror. He needed to get the hell over himself. Tim asked, “What’s pervy?” and Dick turned his horror on Tim instead.

Wayne cleared his throat. “Timothy, we’ve discussed this. Don’t take pictures of people when they don’t know you’re doing it.”

“Is that what pervy means?”

Wayne ignored him and turned on Jason instead. Jason glared back, making it clear what he thought of any attempts at “parenting” Wayne might try on him. They stood in stalemate for a few seconds before Wayne sighed. “Let me show you your room, Jason. I think you’ll like it.”

Dick looked betrayed and Jason made sure to send him a particularly malicious smirk as he walked past.

***

“What book do you have?” Wayne asked, nodding at the book in Jason’s hand as they climbed the stairs. He stiffened, a jolt of fear bursting through his veins. He’d completely forgotten he was holding it, and he didn’t want to face Wayne’s wrath when he realized Jason had taken it from the library.

“Alfred said I could read whatever I wanted,” he said, immediately on the defensive.

A flicker of surprise crossed Wayne’s face. “I’m not upset you have it, Jason. I’m just curious which one it is.”

Jason eyed him suspiciously, but slowly turned the cover to show him.

Wayne made a thoughtful noise. “My father read that to me when I was a kid. For years, anytime I traveled, I was convinced I might end up stranded on a desert island.”

“You were a pretty stupid kid, huh?” Jason asked, pulling the book back to his side.

Wayne’s lip quirked up. “Maybe, but I learned a lot of interesting skills while preparing for the inevitability. I still know how to make a shelter entirely out of fallen branches and palm fronds.”

“I’m sure that’s done you a lot of good.” He knew what Wayne was doing. Make a joke. Share a smile. He was trying to relax Jason. It might work better if he hadn’t met a dozen assholes who could josh around and banter with the best of them, and then turn around and stab their neighbor in the back. Literally. Even Willis had seemed like a cool guy when Jason and his mom first met him. That had ended quickly.

Wayne opened a door. Jason glanced up and down the hall, trying to remember which one it was, but it was a long hall and all of the doors looked the same. He tried to fight down the burst of panic that said he was trapped in a maze with no clear way out. Worse come to worst, he could always climb out a window. He knew how to land safely from second or even third floor jumps. It was one of the first skills you learned working the kind of jobs a kid could get in Crime Alley.

“This is your room,” Wayne said. “I know it’s a little bare right now, but—” the rest of what he said was drowned out by a low ringing that started in Jason’s ears and grew to fill the whole room. It was gigantic. He’d expected it to be big—he’d heard how rich people lived, of course, even if he’d never seen it—but this was ridiculous. This was _obscene_.

“Don’t you mean this is the apartment I’ll be sharing with five other people?” he asked. Wayne laughed like he was telling a joke, but he wasn’t.

The bed, by itself, was half the size of the apartment he grew up in. The two nightstands, if you could call them that, looked like significantly nicer, antique versions of the small dresser he and his mom shared. And that was just the bedroom section of the room. There was also a sitting area with bookshelves, two recliners, and a table; a couch; a fireplace, with a lit fire even though it was August. There was a full vanity area, he swore to God, with a giant mirror, counter, and a chair sitting in front of it. He could just barely see through two doors on the far side of the room that there was a giant walk-in closet and an attached bathroom. He didn’t think he could handle those right now. If he had to look at anything else, he was going to throw himself out the full wall of windows that spanned the length of the room.

“Jason?” Wayne asked.

“Is there…” Jason’s voice broke. He cleared his throat. “Is there another room I can use? Maybe a servants’ quarter? Where does Alfred live? Can I live next to him?”

Wayne laughed again. When Jason didn’t join in, the laughter trailed off. “Jason? Is everything okay?”

“I can’t—” He waved his hand around the room. “—this. I can’t this. It’s too much.”

Wayne knelt in front of him and Jason came pretty close to socking him this time. He clenched his hands into fists. “You’ll get used to it,” he said gently, holding his hand out like he was going to put it on Jason’s shoulder. Jason jerked back.

“I don’t _want_ to get used to it!” he exclaimed. “No one should get used to this. No one should _have_ this. Not when there are kids living on the streets and… and families with five people sleeping in one bed. You know my friend Mateo lives with his three siblings and his parents and his aunt and uncle and _their_ two kids and their _grandparents_ and they have less room than this?”

Wayne hesitated. “I know there’s inequity in the world…”

“No fucking kidding there is!” He was breathing too hard, breaths too quick for him to get any oxygen from them. Wayne was still as a statue, hand still hovering in the air where Jason’s shoulder used to be.

“Do you want to go back to the library?” he asked, finally dropping his hand back to his side.

“ _Yes_.”

“Okay.” He stood up and brushed off his perfectly pristine pant legs. “You can stay there however long you want, and then come back to your room when you’re ready.”

“I’m not going to be ready. I’m going to _sleep in the library_.”

Wayne dragged a hand down his face. They stared at each other, and for one glorious moment, looking into Wayne’s weary eyes, he thought maybe Wayne was going to say this wasn’t working out and take him back to Crime Alley. Instead he said, “I’ll talk to Alfred. Maybe there’s a smaller room you can use. This is the family wing, so I’d prefer you stay here.”

Jason’s lip curled up in a snarl. “Well, I _preferred_ to stay with my mom, so I guess we don’t all get what we want.”

***

An hour later Jason was in a smaller room, not far from the library. It was clearly a guest room, and probably not for well-liked guests, but Jason felt like he could breathe in it. The bed was only a little too large. There was no sitting area, and, while there was a fireplace, it was a small one nestled into the wall behind a grate, not an ostentatious brick outcropping that looked like it belonged in the parlor of a Grand Bazaar. The closet was large, but not a walk-in, and the attached bathroom was only a little bigger than the one back home. It was still more than anyone needed, but more like what his imagined rich person lived in, not the nightmare that was real rich people.

He lay on the bed, shifting on the too soft mattress, trying to get comfortable. Okay, yes, the mattress back home was shit, he knew that, but at least it wasn’t trying to absorb him into it. He was barely a dozen pages into _Robinson Crusoe_ and having trouble concentrating. It wasn’t just the seriously-way-too-soft bed—was that really what rich people liked?—he was also worried about his mom. He was worried about _himself_. He could already tell he was going to hate it here. He wanted his mom. He wanted his friends. He wanted his own bed, shitty mattress and all. He was starting to eye the window and seriously consider making a run for it when he heard the tell-tale squeak of an opening door.

In a flash, he was on his feet, mind already running through every scenario of perverts, drunk assholes, and enterprising criminals. Instead he saw the now familiar camera peeking through the crack in the door.

“I swear to God, if you don’t stop taking pictures of me, your camera won’t be the only thing I break,” he growled. His heart was still beating hard enough in his throat to make him feel like he was choking.

Tim stepped through the door, not looking nearly apologetic enough. Jason glared harder. “But if you don’t let me take pictures, how will we memorialize your first night here?” Tim asked.

“Maybe some of us don’t want to remember this, Timmy.”

Tim looked thoughtful as he considered this. Then he raised the camera and snapped a quick picture before Jason could react. The next second he was running out the door and disappearing into the maze of hallways.

Jason stalked over to the door and slammed it shut. He pushed the dresser in front of it. Last thing he wanted was that weirdo sneaking in to take pictures while he slept. He lay back on the bed but was too wired to read, let alone attempt sleep. He looked at the window again. It wouldn’t be hard to steal something worth a few thousand and hightail it out of there.

But his mom wanted him to stay. He kept reminding himself of that as he rolled over and glared at the door. His mom wanted him to stay in this hellhole, and honestly, he’d done worse things for money.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sharp knock startled him awake. It was too calm to be his mom’s dealer. Too early too, unless his mom got something extra without telling him. He'd just paid her latest tab a couple days ago. It could be one of the working girls looking for medical help or somewhere to hide for a couple minutes. He started to drag himself out of bed when a few things hit him at once. Too much light from too many windows. The way his hands sunk into the bed like it was gelatin. The dresser still barricading the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all the kudos and comments! I love reading your thoughts and theories. Also, thank you to [Kyri](http://archiveofourown.org/users/unorthodoxCreativity/pseuds/unorthodoxCreativity) for reading, and rereading, and _rereading_ this chapter while I edited it. You're the best.

A sharp knock startled him awake. It was too calm to be his mom’s dealer. Too early too, unless his mom got something extra without telling him. He'd just paid her latest tab a couple days ago. It could be one of the working girls looking for medical help or somewhere to hide for a couple minutes. He started to drag himself out of bed when a few things hit him at once. Too much light from too many windows. The way his hands sunk into the bed like it was gelatin. The dresser still barricading the door.

“Master Jason?” a voice said through the door. “May I come in?”

Jason collapsed back onto the bed, remembering where he was and why. It was a good thing he’d just paid the dealer. It meant no one would be coming after his mom immediately. He didn’t know what deal Wayne and his mom had made exactly, but he needed to figure it out. He hoped Wayne didn’t just give her a wad of cash. Last time he let his mom handle their money, it was gone in just a couple days. He didn’t even know what she'd done with it. They certainly didn’t have more food or clothes, and the landlord was banging on their door for rent the very next day.

“Master Jason,” the voice repeated. Alfred. The butler. Right, he’d asked if he could come in.

“You’re welcome to try,” he said.

Alfred was a smart one. He hesitated before trying the door. If someone told Jason he was ‘welcome to try’ opening a door, he’d run the opposite direction. Odds were at least 50/50 a loaded shotgun was waiting behind it.

The door hit the dresser and stopped. Jason knew he should get up and move it, but he wanted to see what happened next. You could tell a lot about a man by what he did when things didn’t go his way. That’s normally when the yelling started, but as long as it was just yelling, that was fine. It was the ones who started hitting and throwing things that you had to look out for.

Alfred cleared his throat. “Master Jason, it seems I am getting rather old and the door is stuck. Could you help me out?” That was different. Did he really think the door was jammed? He must. Otherwise he’d be mad.

“Uh, yeah, sure Alfred,” Jason said, rolling out of bed.

It took him a few minutes to push the dresser back into its spot, and the whole time Alfred waited patiently outside the door. He had to be able to hear the grunts and grating, but he didn’t say a word. When Jason finally pulled open the door, Alfred said, “Ah, thank you, Master Jason. That was quite the jam.”

He definitely knew. Jason wasn’t sure whether to feel patronized or grateful. Alfred was smiling though, gently, with no expectation, so he smiled back.

“I’m afraid we have a rather busy day planned for today,” Alfred said, and Jason settled on feeling grateful. Alfred was going to pretend nothing unusual happened. No questions about how he was feeling. No involving Wayne. He could work with this. “Starting with new clothes,” Alfred continued.

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” Jason asked, defensively. Yeah, they were full of holes and a couple sizes too big, but he'd earned every last thing he was wearing.

“Why, nothing at all, except I do think you need more than one outfit.” Alfred looked pointedly at Jason’s shirt and Jason followed his gaze. Right. He was still wearing his clothes from the day before.

“I didn’t exactly have time to pack,” he muttered. Inspiration struck and his head shot up. “We should get my clothes,” he said.

Alfred’s lips quirked up in amusement. “That is what I suggested.”

Jason waved his hands in front of him. “No, you were going to be weird and suggest buying all new clothes. I mean _my_ clothes, from my apartment.” This was perfect. He could check on his mom, find out what the deal with Wayne was, figure out how to handle her dealer. Lily from down the hall was trustworthy. He patched her up whenever her clients got rough, and she warned him about gang activity in the area. Maybe he could leave some of the money with her and she could pay the dealer when he came by. He’d have to give her a cut, but that was only fair.

“We will have to check with your father.” Jason shuddered at the casual use of ‘your father’. The less often people referred to Wayne as his father the better. “And I do believe some new clothes would be nice as well.”

Jason scowled. The newest clothes he’d ever had came from Goodwill, and he liked it that way. They were already well-worn and comfortable. He imagined new clothes were stiff as a board, forcing that perfect posture rich people always had in magazines. Or worse… he cringed at the memory of Tim’s outfit from the day before. “I will agree on one condition,” he said. “No khakis.” Alfred opened his mouth to respond but Jason cut him off. “Or slacks of any kind. Or _blazers_. Nothing that looks like it could be worn to the office by an up-and-coming businessman. Got it?”

Alfred raised a hand to his mouth, probably trying to hide a smile, the traitor. This wasn’t funny. It was serious business. “I can agree to the terms of this deal,” he said.

“Good,” Jason replied. “Should we spit shake on it?” He spat into his hand and held it out.

Alfred eyed his hand with the sort of disgust usually reserved for finding maggots in a piece of bread you’ve already bit into. “I would rather not.”

“That’s what a fink would say.”

“Then I’m afraid I must be a fink. O judgment!” he exclaimed, suddenly sounding like one of those guys on the street that yell about Jesus. “Thou art fled to brutish beasts, and men have lost their reason.”

Jason stared at him, spit dripping down his fingers while his hand dangled at his side. “What was that?”

“ _Julius Caesar_ , by the illustrious bard himself. I think you’d like it. I used to be an actor before I came here.”

“And you quit that for _this_?” Jason asked incredulously, waving his hand to encompass all of Wayne manor.

Alfred smiled. “This has its advantages and acting has its disadvantages. Why don’t I tell you all about it on our shopping excursion today?”

Jason finally wiped his hand off on his pants. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “But you better not fink out on me you fink.”

“Heaven forbid.”

***

Breakfast was in the Grand Dining Hall. It actually had the word grand in it, which implied that there were other, less grand dining halls scattered about the manor. Jason tried to memorize the path to it, but he was still having trouble mapping this place in his head. There were too many rooms and hallways. He’d have to explore the next time he was left alone. He wouldn’t feel safe until he knew at least three escape routes and a dozen hiding places.

The Grand Dining Hall lived up to its name, with high arched ceilings, a chandelier that looked like it had freakin' diamonds embedded in it, and a long, thin table that could seat at least twenty people. All three Waynes sat at the furthest end, and their heads raised in unison to look at him when he walked in. It was like a scene out of _The Stepford Wives_.

“Nope, not doing this,” he said, turning around. “I don’t need to eat. Who eats breakfast anyway?” Alfred placed a hand on his shoulder, holding him in place as much as it was meant to be comforting. He shrugged it off but stayed put.

He could feel their eyes on his back, probably judging him, the assholes. He breathed long, slow breaths until he felt balanced enough to turn around. “Fine,” he muttered, twirling on his heel and stomping over to the only other seat with place settings. It was next to the little voyeur, and Jason seriously considered picking up his dishes and moving to the other side of the table. Tim smiled at him and he glared back with as much force as he could muster. As he sat down, he noticed the camera in the kid’s lap. He’d have to keep an eye on that.

The silence stretched. Jason wished he had food. At least then he’d have an easy excuse to ignore their staring. Finally, Wayne cleared his throat. “How did you sleep?”

“Terrible,” he replied, glaring at his place settings. He had three forks, and absolutely no idea why. Maybe one of them was for stabbing people. Or himself.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” When Wayne spoke again, his voice sounded strained. “I know it will take time to adju—”

“Nope!” Jason said again. “If you try to talk emotions with me I’m going to throw myself out the window.”

“Those windows?” Tim asked, turning to the large arched windows behind them. “I don’t think they open.”

“Thanks, Tim. Real helpful.”

Tim shrugged, apparently unbothered by his sarcasm.

Wayne cleared his throat again. Jason thought it was probably his way of exerting control of the situation. Too bad for him. “I’m going to speak with the headmaster of Gotham Academy today and try to get you enrolled. It’s late in the year to do so, but I should be able to convince him.” That was code for bribing if anything was.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jason said. “I already have a school.” It was a token protest at best. He knew there was no way Wayne would let him keep his school.

“Gotham Academy is a better school,” Wayne said, his tone slow and patient in the way that raised Jason’s hackles.

“Why? ‘Cause you throw money at it?” he asked.

“Yes. That is exactly why.”

Jason snarled at him and Wayne gazed coolly back. Jason turned his glare to the forks. If one of them wasn’t for stabbing people, it damn well should be.

“I’ll contact Alfred once we confirm you’ve been accepted,” Wayne continued, apparently undeterred by the risk of patricide. “You’ll need to do a placement test as soon as possible.”

“I’m in eighth grade,” Jason said.

“The school will want to confirm that’s the right place for you.”

Jason shot up, slamming his fists on the table. Tim jumped beside him. “What? You think because I’m poor, that means I’m _dumb_?”

Wayne’s lips pressed in a thin line. “That’s not what I’m saying. It’s a school requirement.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it is.” He turned to Tim. “What about you, Timmy? You have to take a placement test?”

“I’m not old enough to go to Gotham Academy until next year,” he said. Jason started to turn on Dick, but Tim continued, “But, no. When I go they’ll accept my transcripts from Logerquist Elementary.”

Jason turned triumphantly on Wayne, who rubbed his temples. “Thank you, Timothy.”

Tim shrugged again. “It’s true.”

Wayne spoke slowly, measuring each word. “Logerquist and Gotham Academy are sister schools. They know that their curriculums conform to the same… standards.”

“Yeah, I get it.” Jason was still standing, hands pressed so hard on the table his skin was turning white. “Can’t trust those poor people to know what should be a passing grade. Is school spelled with one or two o’s? Who knows! Better give it an A.”

“Jason, this is an objectively better school. You’re just being stubborn. It has better funding, better teachers, a better reputation. You’ll be able to get into any college you want.”

“But only go to the one you pick out for me, right?” Jason knew he was being stubborn, but he wasn’t going to let Wayne stomp all over what he wanted and claim the moral high ground because it was _for the best_. Rich people always thought they knew what was best for him, and they had no freakin' idea. He thought of the time he was eight and his mom got him enrolled in some charity gift exchange. He’d been so excited about maybe getting a Lego set or book, and then he unwrapped his gift to find a brand new Xbox game. He didn’t even own an Xbox. Why would he? He sold the game for 20 bucks so he couldn’t complain much, but he still had to wonder what kind of rich asshole assumed that poor kids participating in a charity event owned a $400 game console.

Before Wayne could respond, Alfred came out carrying a platter. He and Wayne continued their standoff as Alfred approached, but finally Jason broke the gaze first and dropped into his seat. He heard the rustle of fabric as Wayne sat down, but refused to look at him. Instead he looked at Dick, across the table from him. He had a wide-eyed look that Jason wanted to smack off his face. If there was one thing Jason didn’t need more than Wayne’s self-righteous superiority, it was pity. Alfred placed the platter in the middle of the table and started cutting into whatever the heck was on it. It looked like some weird yellow, green, and pink pie.

“What is _that_?” he asked.

“Quiche,” Alfred said with a single raised eyebrow.

“What the fuck is that?” He had never even heard of quiche, but it sounded like something French nobility would spout at each other while smoking extra long cigarettes.

“Jason,” Wayne said, a low tone of warning in his voice.

“What, you can’t even _eat_ like normal people?” Jason asked. “Eggs and bacon too modest for your tastes?”

“I assure you, Master Jason, this contains both eggs and bacon, but if you’d prefer something else, I’d be happy to make it for you.”

A wave of guilt hit him. None of this was Alfred’s fault. He wasn’t really doing the cooking too, was he? Didn’t this place have anyone else working, or was it all just Alfred?

“No, that’s okay,” he muttered at his hands. He would eat the stupid French cuisine, and he knew he would go to their stupid school. He just felt like it was all wearing away at the edges of who he was, trying to rebuild him into the kind of kid Wayne would actually want.

“Uh,” Dick said. It was more of a noise than a word. When Jason looked up, Dick smiled crookedly at him. “I have Fruit Loops if you’d rather have that.”

“What have I told you about those sugary cereals?” Alfred asked, but he sounded more amused than annoyed.

“I know, I know, Alfie. They have no nutritional value. Just this once?” He made the largest, bluest puppy dog eyes at Alfred that Jason had ever seen.

“I suppose,” Alfred allowed. “What do you think, Master Jason? Does that sound more to your liking?”

He’d never had Fruit Loops either, but he’d always wanted to. Name brand cereal was a luxury they couldn’t afford. They had gotten the off-brand Tootie Fruities once or twice, but he always imagined the real thing tasted better. “Okay,” he said slowly.

“Great!” Dick exclaimed, jumping up. “Be right back!”

Jason refused to make eye contact with Wayne while he was gone. Refused to even look his direction. In the corner of his eye, he could see Tim fiddling with his camera. He was no longer smiling. Jason knew he should feel bad, but all he felt was viciously glad that the kid hadn’t tried to take any pictures.

By the time Dick came back with the cereal already in a bowl of milk, Wayne had finished eating in stony silence.

“I need to go the office,” Wayne said, standing stiffly. “I’ll call later with the time for the placement test.”

“Master Bruce,” Alfred said as he strode towards the door. “Master Jason wanted to go pick up his clothes from his mother’s apartment today.” Tim perked up beside him.

“No,” Wayne said without even turning to look at him. Jason felt the rage building in his chest again.

“I think—” Alfred started, but Wayne interrupted him.

“No, Alfred, and that’s final. It’s too dangerous.”

“It’s my neighborhood!” Jason exclaimed. “ _My_ neighborhood is too dangerous for me?”

Wayne turned only long enough to freeze Jason in his spot with a sharp glare. “Things have changed, Jason. Get used to it.” He strode out of the room with Alfred on his heels. Maybe Alfred was going to try to convince him, but Jason wasn’t holding out hope.

Jason stirred his Fruit Loops, watching the milk turn into a swirl of colors. It didn’t seem as appealing as it had before.

“I have other contraband if you want,” Dick said, leaning forward to whisper conspiratorially. “Cereal, chips, candy. All the things Alfred doesn’t want us to eat.”

His gut was a swirl of shame and anger, and he couldn’t take Dick’s pity on top of it. “Fuck off,” he said. Dick’s brow scrunched up. His mouth opened, then snapped shut. Finally he sat back in his chair and ate his food in silence.

***

By the time Alfred came back to get Jason for their shopping trip, Jason’s anger had settled into steely resolve.

“Are you ready go?” Alfred asked, clasping his hands together. Jason thought he looked stiffer than before, and wondered if Alfred really had been arguing with Wayne on his behalf. Warmth flared in his chest but he quickly quashed it down. Maybe Alfred was just annoyed at having to spend the whole day with him.

“Absolutely!” Jason said, forcing cheer he didn’t feel into his voice. If Alfred was surprised at his enthusiasm, he didn’t show it.

“Excellent,” Alfred said, turning and walking through one of the arched doorways. Jason couldn’t even tell if it was towards the front or the back of the house, but he assumed he was supposed to follow. “We have a lot of places to go, and very little time to do it in. You’ll need school supplies and a phone, in addition to new clothing. Assuming your application to Gotham Academy is accepted, you’ll also need to be measured for a uniform.”

“Uh huh,” Jason said. His mind stuttered briefly at the mention of a phone, but he focused on his mission. “I think we should start with picking up my clothes.”

Alfred raised a sardonic eyebrow at him. “I assume you mean we should start with purchasing new clothing for you from a store.”

“Nah, we should pick up the clothes from my apartment first. That way we can see what I already have before we buy new stuff. Makes sense, right?”

Alfred paused with his hand on a door that looked just as nondescript as all the other doors they’d passed. “Your father said no to going to your mother’s apartment.”

“I don’t care what _Wayne_ said.”

“He is my employer,” Alfred replied. “What makes you think I would go against his wishes?”

“I don’t know,” Jason said. Doubt crept through his veins. What did make him think Alfred would go to bat for him? He’d known the guy less than a day and all the things he thought were Alfred supporting him could be easily explained away. “‘Cause you’re a good person who doesn’t want to keep me away from my mom?” He thought that was true. He _hoped_ that was true. But as much as he tried to project confidence, he could feel the fear and uncertainty leaking through.

Alfred turned completely towards him. His voice was soft when he spoke again. “Master Bruce isn’t going to keep you from your mother. I promise.”

“It certainly sounded like he was going to try,” Jason muttered.

After several seconds of silence, Jason risked peeking up at Alfred. His lips were pursed in thought. “Alright,” he said. “We can go, but quickly. There really is a rather lot to do today.”

Relief flooded through him. He would have found a way to go with or without Alfred, but it was good to know he had one person on his side in this awful place. “Thank you. I promise I won’t let Wayne find out.”

Alfred gave him a stern look. “I won’t lie to Master Bruce, but I will wait to tell him until after we’ve already gone and explain our reasoning. He does listen to me on occasion.” His tone suggested it wasn’t often enough.

Alfred turned back to the door, and whatever else Jason was going to say was blown away by the sight within. It was a silver and chrome, multi-level garage filled to the brim with luxury cars. Each car sat under a spotlight on circular pieces of floor that Jason thought probably rotated. Jason had gotten a good idea of how much cars and their components were worth over the last couple of years, and he was pretty sure a tire off any one of these cars would pay his rent for a month. Alfred led the way to a black sedan and opened a door for him. Normally Jason would object, but he was too busy staring at the shiny red Lamborghini next to them.

“We, uh, might want something a little less flashy for going into Crime Alley,” Jason said, when he finally tore his eyes away from the Lamborghini to look at the car in front of him. It might not have been as sleek as some of the other cars, but he could tell it was a Mercedes-Benz without even seeing the logo stamped on front. Every kid in the alley would be watching for their chance to grab a piece of it.

Alfred’s lips quirked up. “I assure you, Master Jason, this is the least flashy car we have.” Jason looked around again at all the sports cars and convertibles, and had to admit Alfred was probably right. He slowly lowered himself into the car, scowling as Alfred closed the door behind him. Alfred had sat him in the back seat too instead of the passenger seat.

“I feel stupid,” he said as Alfred climbed into the driver’s seat in front of him. “You know you don’t have to chauffer me around, right?”

“Oh?” Alfred asked. “When did you get your license?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m afraid I don’t. Your modern slang is so difficult on my old ears.”

“Do people actually fall for this shit?” Jason asked. “You know you’re not fooling anyone, right?”

“I’m afraid I may even be going deaf now. I can’t hear a word you said.”

Jason harrumphed and slouched in his seat.

***

The closer they got to his neighborhood, the more anxious he felt. The sugary cereal probably hadn’t helped. His bones were buzzing like his skeleton was trying to escape his skin.

Everything depended on what kind of deal Wayne had given his mom. It must have been good. He _hoped_ it was good, that he was worth more to her than the cost of her next high.

The truth was, he didn’t know. Her behavior had gotten more and more erratic the last year. More than once she’d looked at him with completely blank eyes and he’d known she couldn’t even remember who he was. Maybe she really did think this was what was best for him, or maybe she just didn’t want to have to think about him anymore.

He saw Old Joe’s Corner Store out the window and jolted. “Stop here!” They were way too close already. He wasn’t used to traveling by car.

“We’re still several blocks from your building,” Alfred said. Jason met his eyes in the rearview mirror.

“I know, but we can’t just drive straight up to my building in a million dollar car.” He sized up the people outside his window. More than one were looking their way, and he thought he recognized a kid he’d once gotten in a fist fight with over custom rims. Jason had pried those rims off fair and square, but the kid thought because he was bigger he could claim whatever he wanted. “I’ll just run out, get my stuff, and come back.”

“I’d feel better if I came with you,” Alfred said. He parked on a corner and the looks people were sending their way got hungrier. Not everyone in Crime Alley was a criminal, despite what the rest of Gotham seemed to think, but you couldn’t exactly dangle filet mignon in front of a starving person and expect them not to take a bite.

“I’ll be safer without you, trust me,” Jason said. “And if you leave the car alone for more than a few minutes, you’re likely to get your tires taken.”

Alfred’s lips twitched. “Still.”

“Just wait here,” Jason said. “I’ll be ten minutes tops.” He was out and running before Alfred could object again. He hoped the old man wouldn’t follow.

Talk to his mom first, he thought, then Lily. He knew she’d be home. Might not be awake yet though. She worked late nights.

A block away, he slowed to a jog. A large truck was parked on the street in front of his building, and strange men walked in and out. His heart clenched. It could be a coincidence, but he doubted it.

He sped up again, leaping over a box and almost running into Mrs. Moeykens when he turned into the doorway. “Oh!” she exclaimed, raising a hand to her heart. “Jason! You’re out early.”

“Out late, actually,” he said. “What’s going on?”

Mrs. Moeykens was the building grandmother. Sweet old lady always there with a smile and cookies, and ready to cut anyone who threatened her grandkids. “I was just trying to find that out myself.” She glared at one of the men walking past. That glare was known to make kids and adults alike mumble apologizes and go quietly on their way. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” The man ignored her and kept walking, but Jason thought he looked a little more sheepish.

“I’ll see what I can find out,” Jason said. He could feel tension in the air as he ran up the stairs. Nobody liked having strangers in the building. It could be the landlord clearing people out ‘cause he got a better offer, or one of the mob bosses moving in. He almost ran into a second guy carrying two large boxes as he exited onto the fourth floor. “Sorry,” he said, darting around him and turning the corner. Several of his neighbors were gathered outside the door to his apartment. Lily was there, clearly just woken up and clutching her frayed robe tightly around her chest. Mateo and his sister Gabriela turned to him with wide eyes when he ran up.

“Are you moving?” Mateo asked, his voice strained. Mateo knew Jason would have told him if he was moving, and he certainly wouldn’t have strange men moving his stuff.

“I don’t know,” Jason said. “Hold on.” People parted to let him through and he slammed the door shut as soon as he was in.

The apartment was already half empty. It couldn’t have taken very long. They didn’t own much. It was still alarming to see their meager belongings boxed up and being carted out. His mom stood in the middle of the room and the vice on his heart loosened. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but just seeing her there and alert flooded him with relief.

“Jason! What are you doing here?” she asked. “You should be with your father.” The alarm in her voice killed his relief instantly. He’d been so worried about her, and here she was, cheerfully packing to go off to a better life. Was anyone even going to tell him or was she just going to disappear into the sunset, never to be seen again? Maybe he really was just some trading token. The ticket to greater things she’d held onto until just the right moment, and she was worried he’d already ruined it by getting himself kicked out.

“I’m just getting my clothes,” he muttered. She looked so relieved. Had she missed him at all? “What’s going on, mom?”

“Bruce—” Bruce. Apparently they were on a first name basis. “—is moving me to a rehab facility. It’s nice. I’ll have my own suite, and there will be doctors on staff.”

He took a second to digest that. It sounded more like something Wayne would have insisted on than something she would have chosen for herself. “So like jail,” he said.

“No, no,” she insisted. “Like a spa! But for sick people.”

It felt off to him. He knew what happened to addicts that got caught, and it wasn’t pedicures. “Are you sure it’s not a trap?”

She smiled gently and laid a hand on his cheek. “It’s not a trap.”

Anxiety still swirled through his gut, but he’d always known things were different for rich people. Rich people didn’t go to jail. Maybe rich people really did get pedicures to treat their addictions.

Maybe this was good. Maybe it was better that she’d be somewhere people were paid to keep her alive since he wouldn’t be there to make sure she ate and drank water.

But he wouldn’t be able to ask Lily to keep an eye on her. Nobody they knew, nobody who actually cared about her, would be around to make sure she was okay. He wouldn’t be able to sneak out here to check on her himself. He’d just have to trust her, and trust Wayne, and he didn’t.

“You should probably go,” she said. “Does Bruce know you’re here? I don’t think he’d like it.”

“Did he give you money?” he asked instead of answering. “Cash?”

“No, he’s paying for everything.” She sounded perfectly pleased with this, but he saw it for what it was. Control. Wayne could stop paying at any moment, and as long as his mother’s well-being was on the line, Jason didn’t have any choice. On anything.

“You should have asked for money,” he said. “Real money, Mom. Not 'you do what I want and maybe I’ll buy you a pretty thing' money.”

She wrapped him up in a hug that he didn’t return, arms stiff at his side. “Don’t worry so much, honey. I know you like to be in control, but you don’t have to be anymore.” He wanted to yell, _that’s the problem_.

“Do you at least know where you’re going?” he asked, pushing her away. If he knew that, he could still sneak out, find a way to check up on her.

But she shook her head. “Bruce is handling all of that.” Of course he was.

“Call me when you’re there, okay?” he said. She nodded like she understood. “Call me and tell me the name of the facility. The address. Any information you can find out.” She continued nodding, but he didn’t have much hope it would happen. She’d forget. She’d think about doing it so much that she’d think she already had. One time she’d insisted for over an hour that she remembered going grocery shopping even though all they had in the refrigerator was two eggs, a moldy piece of cheese, and an empty carton of milk. He never did figure out if she was remembering wrong or if she actually had gone and accidentally left the groceries somewhere. He took over the shopping after that.

“You should go,” she said again. She turned him around and herded him towards the worn dresser. “I don’t think they’ve packed any of your things yet.” Jason wondered if they were going to bring it to him when they did or burn it. Probably the latter.

He grabbed a trash bag and started stuffing anything he considered his into it. Not just clothes, but also a ratty baseball mitt he’d dug out of a dumpster, a few worn novels with crumbling covers he’d paid a dime for at Goodwill, and the only stuffed animal he’d ever had, a sticky piglet with its arm hanging by a thread named Mr. Piggers. He wasn’t going to let Wayne erase where he came from.

When he was done, he stood by the door with a half-full bag and looked back at the apartment he’d spent most his life in. _It’s not that important_ , he told himself. _It’s just things. Not even good things_.

“You’ll remember to call?” he asked.

She smiled that ditsy half out-of-it smile she always had while staring in the sink wondering where their dishes had gone after he cleaned them or trying to remember what happened to the five dollars he’d given her for bread they still didn’t have. “Of course.”

He knew he needed to go, but he couldn’t convince his feet to move. He felt heavy, like all of his blood was gathering in his fingers and feet, pulling him down.

“Sweetie,” his mom said softly. “It’s okay.”

He dropped the bag and flung himself at her. She caught him and he buried himself into her chest, holding her tight. It was several minutes before either of them spoke.

“Call,” he said again, muffled against her chest. Maybe if he repeated it enough times, she’d remember.

“I will. I promise.”

He nodded and forced himself to pull away. “Okay. I have to go. I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too. I’ll see you soon.”

He didn’t believe her.

The crowd outside their apartment had grown. Mateo’s cousins were there too, and the Circone brothers from next door.

“What’s wrong?” Lily asked. “What’s going on?”

Jason shook his head. “I’m taking off,” he said, not explaining more than that. He didn’t know what else he could say.

Mateo stepped forward. “You know if you need a place you can stay with us.” Jason almost laughed. He thought about Mateo’s extended family in that tiny apartment, of his room back in the manor, and thought he should be the one offering for Mateo to move in with him. He knew Mateo meant it though. His whole family would let him move in, take up their space and eat their food, and never complain.

“Nah,” he said, trying not to sound like he was going to cry or burst into manic laughter. “I’m going to go find my dad.”

Even the Circone brothers looked concerned at that, and he was pretty sure they were enforcers for one of the crazies. Everyone knew it had to be bad if he was going looking for a dad he’d never known instead of staying with his mom.

Mateo’s heavy eyebrows scrunched together. “Wait here, just a second,” he said, motioning for Jason to stay. He waited to make sure Jason obeyed before running off. Jason was pretty sure he was going to get his mom or aunt, someone he thought was more likely to talk sense into him. Instead he came back with a small, circular candy. A de la Rosa. He tried to hand it to Jason.

“I can’t take that,” Jason said, stepping back.

“It’s yours,” Mateo said. “I made a little extra this week and got it for your birthday. I just haven't had a chance to give it to you.” Jason still hesitated. He knew how much work it took for Mateo to make a little extra, and his family needed it much more than Jason did. Mateo gave him a weak smile. “It’s not every day my best friend becomes a teenager. Take it.”

“Thanks,” Jason said, finally letting Mateo hand it to him. He thought about how many of those little candies Wayne could buy. Guilt swirled in his gut, but he couldn’t refuse Mateo’s gift. “Thanks,” he repeated.

“Take care of yourself,” Mateo said. They all knew if he was going, he probably wasn’t planning to come back. Lily bent to give him a quick hug.

“If you need anything, call me,” she said.

Jason nodded. He had to get out of there. His voice was choked and he didn’t think he’d be able to speak again without crying. For a crazy moment he thought about taking Mateo’s offer, staying and trying to keep under Wayne’s radar for as long as possible, but he knew it wouldn’t work.

“Bye,” he managed, barely a croak. Then he ran. Around the corner, down four flights of stairs, out the door, almost running into Mrs. Moeykens again. She said something as he flew past, but he didn’t hear it. He didn’t stop running until he slammed into the side of the car, scrabbling with the door for several seconds before managing to pry it open. Alfred was already starting to open his own door and step out, expression alarmed, but Jason shoved into the car and slammed the door shut behind him. Alfred slowly returned to his seat.

“Is everything alright, young sir?” His voice was as calmly posh as ever, and the bit of his face Jason could see in the rearview mirror was once again reserved.

Jason clung to the trash bag full of all his worldly belongings. The small candy sat in the palm of his hand, warmer than it had any right to be. He closed his fingers tightly around it. “Let’s just go.”

***

Night was falling by the time the car slowly wound its way up the manor’s long drive. Jason’s trash bag had been joined by a dozen bags of clothes and shoes, including a week’s worth of perfectly tailored school uniforms. They’d gotten the call midafternoon that Jason was successfully enrolled in Trust Fund Academy and would have to take the placement test in two days. Wayne had suggested picking up a study guide. Jason might have suggested that Wayne go fuck himself, but they were in public and Jason didn’t want to do that to Alfred. The poor man had enough to deal with already.

They’d gone to a bookstore afterwards and Jason had thought Alfred might actually force him to get the study guide, but instead he’d told Jason to find ten books that he wanted. Somehow that was worse than the clothes. Everyone needed clothes, and of course Wayne would want him to look presentable and insist on ridiculously expensive, brand name stuff. He got that. It was more about Wayne than him. But Wayne didn’t need to get him books. The manor had a library full of them. Alfred had insisted though, so he'd spent an hour very carefully picking books out of bargain bins and sales shelves. He pulled the bag of books over and looked at them again. The whole bag was cheaper than even just the dress shirt of his uniform, but they were the only things in the car that actually felt like his.

Those and the set of plays in the next bag over. Alfred had handed it to him after they’d already left the store. Shakespeare’s complete works, in simple playbook form. “This is a gift from me,” he’d said, “not your father.” He’d smiled warmly and added, “I think you’ll like them.”

Their last stop of the day had been an electronics store. He stroked the screen of the brand new iPhone Alfred had said he would need. _Need_. He knew plenty of people with cell phones, but they were usually cheap knockoffs, pre-paid or pay as you go. That’s what you got out of _need_ , not the latest name brand model, on a plan almost as expensive as the phone.

Alfred pulled into the garage, but neither of them made a move to get out of the car. Jason didn’t want to go back in there. He thought again of Mateo’s offer and wished he could take him up on it. The candy was buried in his trash bag of belongings now, wrapped in a shirt to keep it safe.

Alfred cleared his throat. When Jason looked up, Alfred met his eyes in the rearview mirror, expression sympathetic. Unlike on Wayne, it didn’t feel like pity.

“I know it’s not my place to say, young sir,” Alfred said. Jason resisted a groan. They’d been so good at avoiding the emotional talk. “I can’t possibly claim to know what you’re going through right now, but I can suggest someone who might.”

“Please don’t say Bruce Wayne,” Jason muttered.

“Oh, heaven’s no!” Alfred exclaimed. Jason huffed a laugh. He knew he liked Alfred. “I am referring to Master Richard.”

“Who?” Jason asked. He hadn’t met anyone named Richard.

Alfred’s lips quirked up. “Your older brother?”

Jason scrunched his brow. He thought there were just the two brats. Was there a brother he missed? Then he realized. “Dick is short for _Richard_? How does that make sense? Did someone call him an insult and it stuck?”

Alfred pressed a finger to his mouth. He was trying to look dignified, but Jason was sure he was suppressing a laugh. “I assure you it’s a legitimate nickname with centuries of history.”

“Uh huh. So someone centuries ago called Richard an insult and it stuck.”

“Regardless,” Alfred said, soldiering on while Jason snickered. “If you would like to speak with him, he’ll be in the gym this time of day. Why don’t you do that while I take your new belongings to your room?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Alfred. I’m not going to let you carry all this by yourself.” He hopped out of the car and picked up as many bags as he could fit on his arms. He was up to eight when Alfred joined him.

“I assure you, I don’t mind. It is my job.” He reached for a bag, but Jason grabbed it before Alfred could. Nine.

“Doesn’t mean nobody should help you,” Jason said, shifting the bags to try to pick up another. “Besides, I seem to remember just this morning you were too old to open a door.”

Alfred did chuckle this time, and Jason grinned in response. “I suppose you’re right,” Alfred said. He raised an eyebrow at Jason. “Let’s hope that door will be less sticky in the future.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll see.” He didn’t think he’d be comfortable sleeping here without blocking the door any time soon, but maybe he could set an alarm to get up and fix it himself before Alfred had to deal with it. He got the feeling Alfred dealt with way too much with this family already.

***

The only gym Jason had ever been in was the little corner place owned by one of the local mob bosses. Jason had been hocking a particularly valuable stereo liberated from the car of a lost tourist. He’d been trying to negotiate with his normal contact when the guy brought him inside, probably to scare him. It had worked. The small, cramped room had dumbbell stands, a few bench presses, a punching bag in the corner, and was stuffed full of muscular, angry looking men. Jason hadn’t known how many of them worked for the mob boss, but he didn’t want to mess with even one of them. He ended up settling for half what he thought he deserved for the stereo.

Dick’s gym was completely different. It was huge, spacious, with tall ceilings. Half of the room was empty except for mats on the floor. Large pieces of equipment sat by themselves with a lot of empty space around them. A balance beam, something he thought was called a pummel horse, bars, both close to the ground and high in the air, and even higher what looked like a trapeze and tight rope.

Alfred was full of shit. There was no way the spoiled heir to the Wayne fortune, a guy who _had his own in-house gymnasium_ , who looked like he’d faint at a thirteen-year-old saying pervy, could ever understand his life.

He was already backing out into the hallway when he spotted Dick, soaring through the air like he was born there. His back arched so far he almost touched his toes, and he cut through the air like a mermaid through water. For a second, he thought Dick was actually flying, that he was some kind of meta, like a fairy or whatever Superman was. Then his hands grabbed hold of a trapeze. He swung in one long arc before releasing the bar and flying again.

He could see the moment Dick spotted him. Dick met his eyes and actually smiled at him while upside down in mid-flip. Then he caught a bar, fingers barely touching it as he swung in a complete flip around it, body straight as a rod, and let go into a complicated twist that Jason could barely follow. He landed in a step towards Jason and kept walking like that had been his plan all along.

“Hey!” Dick called. “How was shopping? Get everything you need?” He was smiling, but his fingers tapped nervously against his leg. And why wouldn’t he be nervous? Rich brat had probably been warned against crime alley crooks his whole life. Jason scowled.

“Do you seriously have your own private gym?”

Dick stopped midstep and looked around the room. “It’s not just mine, per se.” He huffed out air in something that barely qualified as a laugh. “I could teach you some moves if you’d like?” He was still trying to smile, but it was obviously fake. Just a pretty plastic decoration hiding cracks in the wall.

“No, thanks.” Jason turned on his heel and stalked back into the hallway. He wasn’t sure where exactly his room was, but this was as good a time as any to figure it out.

The hall was silent behind him, and for a brief moment he actually thought Dick was going to be smart and let him go. Then footsteps scrambled to catch up.

“Wait, Jason,” Dick said. Jason didn’t slow down. He could already hear the argument they were going to have. Dick would say something stupid like that they got off on the wrong foot. And then Jason would yell about how there was no wrong foot, because the whole damn thing was wrong, so how could you blame one foot. Then maybe he’d punch Dick. He hadn’t decided yet. “You’re going the wrong way.”

Jason’s thoughts screeched to a halt. “What?” he asked.

“You’re trying to get to your room, right? Or the library? Either way, that’s the wrong way.”

“How am I supposed to know that?” Jason asked, his hackles rising. “This place is a maze.”

This time, Dick’s laugh was a little more genuine. “I know, right? It took me two months to be able to find my way around. I actually drew myself a bunch of maps when I first got here. You can have them if you want? I’m not exactly the best artist so I don’t know how much they’d help. It’s mostly just scriggly lines with X’s marking the important spots.”

It took Jason a minute to sort through Dick’s rambling. “What do you mean when you first got here? Did you upgrade from a mansion with only 20 bedrooms?”

“Ha, no. You didn’t know?” Dick rubbed the back of his neck. “I grew up in the circus. I didn’t come here until I was nine.”

“The circus?” Jason scoffed. “That sounds like something you made up.”

Dick grinned. “I get that a lot. But no, it’s true. Haly’s Circus.” He lit up like a thousand watt bulb. “My mom was their star trapeze artist. I started performing with her when I was six.” Jason thought of Dick flying through the air, and it didn’t sound as fake as it could have.

“So, what? Wayne just runs around knocking up chicks and stealing the kids when he finds out?”

“No, that’s not…” Dick took a deep breath and scrubbed his hand down his face. When he removed his hand he was smiling again. That same fake smile from a guy clearly used to performing. “Why don’t we get those maps and I’ll tell you about the circus?”

Jason wanted to say no. He wanted to say screw your maps and screw your fake smiles and screw you pretending to care. The words settled on the tip of his tongue.

Then he thought about Dick offering him cereal that morning, and about another kid years earlier, smaller than him and scared in a big unfamiliar house, who probably just wanted to eat cereal and was told he couldn’t.

“Okay, fine,” he said. “Tell me about the circus.”

Dick’s grin was blinding. He started walking backwards down the hallway, gestures large enough to fill the whole space. “It was amazing! I loved it there. Everyone was like a big family, even the animals. There was this elephant, Zitka, that I used to help take care of. I saw her again years later and I swear she still remembered me.”

“It sounds like a fairy tale.” He said it bitingly, but Dick just grinned wider.

“It was! We traveled all over the world performing. Huge audiences everywhere we went.” He had a dreamy, far away smile.

“So what happened?”

His smile faltered and fell. “My mom died.” The pain in his voice was stifling. Jason breathed it in with the air and it settled in his lungs. Dick swallowed twice before continuing. “She was murdered, actually, here in Gotham. Some mafia boss mad that the circus wasn’t paying him protection money.”

Jason saw flashes of Willis smashing a bottle over his mother’s head while he screamed and tried to shield her with his too small body. Of drug dealers who smiled while they casually opened a jacket to display a gun or knife and said to have the money by sunset. Of the woman killed right outside their building in a robbery. All the fears that choked him while he lied in bed trying to imagine every way things could go wrong so that he could be prepared to fight back.

“If someone killed my mom, I’d hunt the bastard down myself,” he said, painfully pushing the words through clenched teeth.

“Heh, yeah, well,” Dick said, combing fingers through his hair and not meeting Jason’s eyes. He had to remind himself that Dick wasn’t a crime alley kid. He’d probably never even considered taking matters into his own hands. “He’s in jail now.”

Dick stuffed his hands in his pockets, looking past Jason at memories Jason couldn’t see. When they started walking again, Dick turned to walk beside him instead of leading the way. “It was hard. Not just because Mom was gone, but because Dad… Well he’s not exactly the most emotionally open guy, as you’ve probably noticed. He used to come see the show whenever we were in town. Sometimes when we weren’t, just randomly show up in Germany or China. But it was always kind of awkward. When mom died, all I wanted was to stay with the circus. That was my home. My family.”

 _Not some guy I barely knew_ , Jason filled in.

“The court said I had to come here though. I hated it. The house was too big and empty. At the circus you’re always surrounded by people. Dad put me in one of those private schools right away too, and they made me start with kids a year younger than me because they didn’t think my homeschool education was up to snuff.” Jason snorted derisively. Bunch of snobs. “Thing is,” Dick continued. “They were probably right. And after a few months I made friends and got to know Dad and Tim and Alfred, and things got better.”

Jason hunched his shoulders. He could feel Dick’s eyes on him.

“I know Dad seems cold,” Dick said, touching his shoulder. He jerked away and Dick let him. “But he cares, a lot. He just doesn’t always know how to express it.”

Jason didn’t respond, and they continued their walk in silence. He wasn’t ready to accept that Wayne was actually a sweet baby lamb buried under layers of asshole, but he knew he should try to make the best of things. He was stuck here, after all, for better or for worse.

“Here we go!” Dick said, twirling on his heel and motioning grandly to the door beside him. “My room.”

Jason looked at the door, which had a colorful sign clearly drawn in crayon by a small child. The word 'Dick' was written in large, red letters, surrounded by blobby shapes that might have been elephants and tigers. Then he looked behind him at the hallway they’d walked down. He could have sworn they were still on the wrong side of the house. “Witchcraft,” he said.

Dick snorted so hard he choked and coughed into his hand. “You just gotta learn the secrets,” he said. “I’ll grab the maps and we can start with the first floor. Do you want something to eat?”

Jason hesitated. “Do you really have a stash of junk food squirreled away?”

Dick’s answering grin was devilish. “Anything you could possibly want.”

“Show me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, Tim and school, not at the same time. 
> 
> By the way, I'm [AmariTs on Tumblr](http://amarits.tumblr.com/). Sometimes I create [gifs of _Under the Red Hood_ using quotes from _The Goofy Movie_](http://amarits.tumblr.com/post/166618143136/kyrianne-amarits-what-do-you-mean-this-isnt). Most of the time, I do not.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick had somehow managed to overstate how helpful his maps would be. When he'd called them 'squiggly lines with X’s marking the important spots,' Jason had imagined the map from Treasure Island, not a poorly drawn pile of snakes with X's for heads.
> 
> The X's weren't even labeled, so Jason had no idea what he was looking for. At least they mostly seemed to lead to food. That was some logic Jason could get behind. So far he’d found a kitchen, another kitchen, a pantry, three dining rooms, and a movie theater. He wasn’t sure if the last one was marked for the movies or the popcorn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your continued support. Your comments give me life.

Dick had somehow managed to overstate how helpful his maps would be. When he'd called them 'squiggly lines with X’s marking the important spots,' Jason had imagined the map from _Treasure Island_ , not a poorly drawn pile of snakes with X's for heads.

The X's weren't even labeled, so Jason had no idea what he was looking for. At least they mostly seemed to lead to food. That was some logic Jason could get behind.  So far he’d found a kitchen, another kitchen, a pantry, three dining rooms, and a movie theater. He wasn’t sure if the last one was marked for the movies or the popcorn.

Jason squinted at the scribbles and dots that were supposed to depict the wing he was in, trying to figure out how much further he was supposed to go before turning. Dick had said the dots usually represented doors, except when they represented statues, and this hallway had a lot of both. Where was he, anyway? The manor’s private museum? Statues—mostly busts, but the occasional full-sized one too—lined the walls. He was pretty sure he’d seen at least one of them in a book. It was a woman's face, covered in a veil. He stopped to look at the carved folds of fabric, and marked his own X on Dick’s map. He’d have to come back and look at these later.

Clothing rustled behind him, followed by a soft thud. His teeth grit automatically. He didn't need to look to know it was his own personal stalker, at it again. The kid was strangely immune to threats, maybe because he'd never had anyone follow through with them. That was going to end soon.

He made a show of studying his map while turning just enough to catch a glance of Tim crouched behind a statue, camera in hand. He’d never seen the kid without it. Maybe he’d gotten it surgically attached. That sounded like a rich person thing to do. 'Make my nose smaller, my eyes bigger, and surgically attach a camera to my hand so I never miss any important moments.'

He turned back like he hadn't seen Tim and kept walking. The patter of footsteps followed shortly behind. Kid wasn’t as sneaky as he thought he was.

Five dots, then a turn. Jason opened the sixth door to find a storage closet. Apparently he was supposed to have been counting statues after all. He looked back to see how many he’d passed, and Tim jumped behind a thin, modern art piece that didn’t completely cover him. He couldn’t actually believe this was working, could he? Had he been entirely raised by cartoons?

Jason glanced thoughtfully at the closet door, then strode in like he was confidently walking down a hallway. He doubted Tim knew what every door in this monstrosity of a house was for either. As soon as he was in, he ducked to the side and pressed up tight against the wall.

Tim followed not long after. He peeked around the doorway and his expression barely had time to scrunch in confusion before Jason grabbed him by the collar and yanked him into the room. Tim stumbled into the far wall with a loud yelp. Before he could right himself, Jason jumped out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

Jason leaned back against the door, feeling absurdly pleased with himself. Now he just needed something to block it with. He considered dragging over one of the statues, but he wasn't going to take the blame if Tim broke something trying to get out.

The closet behind him was quiet. After a minute, the doorknob slowly turned and he felt a light pressure of the door against his back. He pressed back harder, keeping it closed.

"Jason, come on."

"Nope! This is what you get for being a little shit." He grinned to himself, resting with his full weight against the door.

The doorknob rotated back into place. He waited for Tim to start yelling. Begging maybe. Slamming his weight against the door. Nothing happened. This wasn't very fun if Tim just accepted his fate.

He turned his head so his ear was against the door. There was a quiet shuffling noise he couldn’t place. "Doing okay in there?" he asked after several long minutes dragged past.

"No, I'm dying." The response was immediate, but sounded distracted and far away.

"You are not." He pressed his ear harder against the door. The noises had to be from the far side of the closet. There was a quiet grunt followed by a thump.

"I'm having a heart attack." There was another grunt and then a rattle. What the hell?

"You can't actually think I'd fall for that, can you?" he asked, moving along the door to try to hear better. It occurred to him that he had no idea what was _stored_ in that closet. Little Timmy could be doing anything in there. In the Alley, that probably meant he had a weapon. Maybe even a hastily assembled bomb, but he couldn’t imagine the rich brat assembling anything more dangerous than a bubble blower.

But if he was up to something, Jason wasn’t going to just sit around and wait for him to finish.

"It's not a trick,” Tim said. “I'm having a heart attack and dying."

Jason swung the door open on the last word, fists clenched and body braced for an attack. Instead Tim stilled and stared at him like a deer caught in headlights. He was surrounded by boxes, another small one in his hands. What looked like a decorative coat rack had fallen behind him, the top of it pointing at Jason’s feet.

“What the hell?” Jason asked. Had he been making a fort?

“This is what having a heart attack looks like,” Tim said.

“It is _not_. What are you doing?” Jason eyed the mess again. Tim had mostly cleared out the corner he was in, but he hadn’t started there. Junk was haphazardly piled in the other corner like it had been removed and quickly replaced. The shelves had been pushed away from the far wall and sat at an uneven angle.

Tim shuffled the small box between his hands. “Nothing. Looking for a secret passage.”

Jason scoffed. Then he thought of the mystery books he’d read growing up and how many impossible murders or escapes were explained by a hidden path behind a bookshelf.  “Is there a secret passage?” he asked.

Tim rolled his eyes. “ _All_ old houses have secret passages. Probably.” He started repiling boxes in what Jason could see, when he squinted, was a clearly empty corner. Tim was full of shit.

“You are such a little weirdo.”

Tim shrugged and jumped to his feet, abandoning the rest of the boxes. He warily eyed Jason as he approached the closet door, but Jason stepped aside to let him out. If Tim was gonna learn a lesson from this, he already had. If he wasn’t gonna learn a lesson from it, then Jason just had to come up with more creative ways of teaching him. He was thinking maybe something with glue.

He started shifting his weight towards the hallway, but his feet stayed rooted in place. The closet was still such a mess. There was no reason Alfred should have to deal with this. Or any other servants if they existed. It was actually kind of eerie how few people worked in the giant manor.

He knelt to pick up the fallen coat rack. He thought he remembered it being by the bookshelf. He pushed the bookshelf back into place and squeezed the coat rack between it and the right wall. That looked right.

“What are you doing?” Tim asked, watching him curiously from the doorway.

“Cleaning up so Alfred doesn’t have to.” He wasn’t sure what to do with the rest of this junk. He had a vague memory of neatly organized boxes, but nothing of which ones went where. He started piling them so they were at least out of the way.

Tim shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I don’t think Alfred minds.”

Jason scowled. “You are such an entitled—” Before he could really get his rant going, Tim took one of the smaller boxes from him.

“I think this went over here.”

Jason shut his mouth but kept scowling.

They’d mostly sorted the place back into some form of order when Tim said, “I hear you went to Crime Alley after Dad said no.”

“He doesn’t control me,” Jason muttered. Tim grinned. “What?” Jason asked, annoyed.

Tim shrugged, still grinning. “I don’t know. I think it’s cool. ‘He doesn’t control me,’” he repeated gruffly in a poor imitation of Jason’s voice. “Is everyone from Crime Alley like you?”

“Of course not,” Jason said, shoving the last box into place a little too hard. Its side crumpled against the wall. “We’re not dolls in a set.”

“So what are they like?”

“Why do you care?” Jason gave the room a cursory glance, enough to be satisfied with the current state, before storming towards the door.

“I’m just curious. I’ve never met anyone from Crime Alley before, only seen them on TV or in movies.”

“Movies treat us all like we’re criminals,” Jason said.

“Well, you are from somewhere named Crime Alley.”

“It’s _named_ Park Row.” He twirled on Tim, and despite locking him in a closet just ten minutes earlier, the kid didn’t even flinch. “You know what, you don’t get to call it Crime Alley anymore. You have to say Park Row.”

“Huh,” Tim said, mulling this over. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Jason repeated. He’d expected more of a fight.

“Sure, if you say so.”

Jason narrowed his eyes at Tim. “You are _so weird_.”

Tim shrugged again. He picked a label up off the ground and twisted it in his hands, looking around at the boxes until he found an unlabeled one. He pressed the label against the box. It immediately unstuck and fluttered back to the floor. Tim reached to pick it up again.

“I think we’re probably good,” Jason said, visions of Sisyphus dancing in front of his eyes.

He stepped back into the hallway and pulled the map out of his back pocket. Tim followed a few steps behind. He wasn’t sure how far back he’d entered the hallway, but he was pretty sure he’d passed eight of these statues. That meant he was three statues too far.

“What are you doing?” Tim asked, standing on his tiptoes to look over Jason’s shoulder. Jason stepped away and hid the map instinctually, then felt stupid. This wasn’t a score he needed to hide from another Alley rat. He turned the map towards Tim and pointed at the X.

“Trying to find whatever this is.”

“Oh, you have to use the secret passage to get there,” Tim said with barely a glance at the paper.

“Funny.”

Jason opened the door between the 5th and 6th statues. Another hallway. Good. Back on track. At least this one didn’t have any statues. Instead the walls were covered with impressionist paintings. He _was_ in was a freakin’ museum.

“You’re starting school tomorrow, right?” Tim asked, pulling Jason’s mind back from studying a painting that he _swore_ he’d seen in some art book at the library. It had swirled images of flowers and lily pads. “Me too.”

He grunted noncommittally. He wasn’t looking forward to it. His friends in the Alley weren’t starting school for another three weeks, but apparently schools that could afford air conditioning liked to get an early start.

“I heard you did well on the test they gave you.” Tim bounced on the balls of his feet as he spoke. Jason wasn’t sure if it was excitement, nervousness, or just a need to keep moving.

“Where do you hear this stuff?” Jason muttered instead of answering. That bastard Wayne had looked _surprised_ when he told Jason he tested into 8th grade. Like he knew anything at all about Jason.

“I listen to people.”

“You spy, you mean.”

“People shouldn’t talk about stuff in their private studies with their doors closed if they don’t want anyone to listen.”

Jason gave him the driest look he could manage. He was pretty sure the kid was joking, but just in case. “I will lock you in a closet again.”

“You can’t keep me there.”

“We’ll see about that.” He thought of Wayne’s reaction again and glowered at the map to hide his expression. “What about you? You surprised I actually tested into the grade I’m in?”

Tim made a noise as he thought about it, his face turned away from Jason. “My mom told me once that if poor people were smart they wouldn’t be poor.”

Jason’s hands clenched so tightly on the map he almost tore it.

“But I don’t know,” he continued. “You seem smart to me, and I think my mom’s probably wrong about a lot of things.”

Jason managed to relax his hands just enough that the paper was no longer in danger of ripping. “Trust me,” Jason said, trying to keep his voice under control. “Being stuck in the Alley has nothing to do with smarts.”

Tim turned towards him with wide eyes, apparently only just noticing his anger. Kid had no survival instincts at all. “Huh,” he said.

***

A blonde girl stumbled into Jason, knocking his books out of his hands. Her hair and makeup were so perfectly done that it almost made up for her unfortunate genetics. He thought about saying that to her as she tittered and said, “I’m sooooooo sorry,” in a sugary sweet voice, but instead he just scowled. This was the third time someone had run into him, and it wasn’t even noon. He wasn’t stupid enough to think it was an accident. She wafted by and rejoined her friends, laughing and whispering with them as they walked away.

Jason liked school. Jason had always liked school. He liked reading stories in the beat up old textbooks filled with a dozen different students’ notes. He liked History and Science, learning more about how the world around him worked and what made it the way it was. He even liked Math. What little he’d learned of geometry seemed useless, but his early teachers knew exactly what math mattered to the kids of Crime Alley. He’d learned everything he needed to know about budgeting and making sure the cashier at the grocery store wasn’t cheating him out of his change before he graduated from first grade.

Jason did not like Gotham Academy. He had no idea how everyone already knew he didn’t belong. He had the same perfectly tailored uniform as everyone else and Alfred had even made him get a haircut for the occasion. But apparently Crime Alley had so thoroughly seeped into his skin that the other students could smell it on him.

He trudged towards class with his books tightly clutched to his chest. The next person who tried to knock them out of his arms was gonna get brained with them.

Everything was supposed to be better here. The teachers had fancy letters after their names. The books were brand new. Even the hard wooden desks somehow managed to be comfortable. But the students just didn’t care. They chatted with their friends or played on their phones throughout the lectures, and not a single teacher ever called them on it.

And why should they care? Their parents would buy their way through high school, buy their way into a fancy college, and buy their way into a six figure job, if they even needed to work at all. Where Jason was from, getting an education meant something. It might be your ticket out of the slums, but even it wasn’t, it gave you enough smarts to work your way up the ladder in one of the city’s many criminal enterprises instead of being on the front lines of a never ending turf war. Kids at his school were there because they cared. If they didn’t care, they were already out on the streets working. No reason to bother wasting time at school if you weren’t going to get anything out of it. Public education might be free for the rich, but for the poor it cost all the wages they missed out on sitting in a classroom.

“Hey, Jason!” a familiar voice called, snapping him out of his thoughts. Dick waved at him a little too enthusiastically from a dozen feet down the hallway. He was framed by a couple of attractive girls, because of course he was. At least the girls seemed about as embarrassed by Dick as he was. The blonde one covered her face with a hand, and the redhead grabbed Dick’s waving arm when it came a little too close to hitting her. He grinned sheepishly at her in response.  

Jason thought about just turning and walking away, but Dick was between him and his next class. He reluctantly trudged onward.

“How’s your first day going?” Dick asked as he approached.

“I hate it,” Jason said. No reason to sugar coat things. And hey, maybe if he complained enough he could go back to his old school.

Fat chance.

Dick winced but didn’t look surprised. “Yeah, I know it’s a hard adjustment. It’ll get better.”

“Everyone will magically stop being assholes?” Jason asked. “I hadn’t realized.”

“They’re not _all_ assholes,” Dick defended.

“Yeah,” said the blonde girl standing next to him. Her hair was pulled back in a casual ponytail and she looked like she could throw some punches. He was getting a definite Crime Alley vibe from her, and _oh_ , he realized. _That’s how they know_. “Just the rich people.”

The redhead laughed but put a hand over her mouth to cover it.

“Don’t encourage him,” Dick said, but he was clearly fighting a smile. Maybe Dickie boy wasn’t so bad. The jury was still out.

“Do you people have a pretty person club or something?” Jason asked. Not the smoothest thing to say, admittedly, but he’d never been good at not saying exactly what came to mind at any point in time, and all of Dick’s friends were ridiculously attractive. “Do you have to be at least a nine to hang out with you?”

“Ten,” the blonde said with a smirk. “I’m Artemis.”

“Barbara,” said the redhead. She smiled warmly. “It’s nice to meet you, Jason.”

“Yeah, well, you know. Always is.” He flushed as they laughed. Smooth, Jason. Real smooth.

“Very modest, Jay,” Dick said, ruffling his hair. He glared in response, already missing when Dick had been intimidated by him. “We’ve got to get to class. Keep an open mind, okay? School’s not that bad.”

“I don’t have a problem with school!’ Jason called after him as they walked away. “I have a problem with _this_ school.” Dick just waved over his shoulder.

The bell rang right as he reached his classroom. Great. He was already one of the rich kids slacking in his studies. It was only going to go downhill from here. In a week he’ll probably be lounging on yachts in polo shirts smoking pipes and talking about stock options. He shuddered at the image.

He snuck into the room and slipped into the closest seat, trying to be as quiet as possible. Nobody paid him any attention. Half of the students were still talking, and another two came in after him. He watched the girl in the seat next to him play on her phone while their teacher handed out the syllabus. She had some kind of game with colorful shapes that she was tapping and swiping. She didn’t even look up when the person in front of her handed a pile of papers back to her. Just took them, put one on her desk, and passed the rest behind her while continuing to play one-handed.

A phone started ringing, the high-pitched chimes obnoxiously loud and repetitive. Nobody made a move to pick up their phone and the teacher just started talking louder like this was a daily occurrence. Jason seriously hated every single one of them. The phone rang for a full minute before finally going silent. Then, just as the teacher started to write on the board, it started again. The girl next to him finally looked up from her phone and met his eyes. Then she pointed a long, gold-tipped nail at his bag.

Oh, _fuck_.

Nobody had paid any attention to the ringing, but they definitely turned to look when he dragged his bag up onto his desk and started digging through it. He’d forgotten he even had that stupid phone. Who would be calling him? He hadn’t given anyone his number. He’d barely even touched the phone since he got it, just kept it charged and, as Alfred said, ‘on his person in case of an emergency.’

His hand finally closed around the device and he pressed any buttons he could find until it stopped ringing. He breathed the shortest sigh of relief at the silence, before noticing the name ‘Timothy’ on the screen.

Timothy? Tim? Why would Tim be calling him? Alfred must have given Tim his number. Must have programmed Tim’s number into his phone too, ‘cause he certainly didn’t do it, but that still didn’t explain why Tim would be calling him in the middle of a school day.

Wait, _was_ this an emergency? Why would Tim be calling _him_ in an emergency?

The phone lit up again, this time with a text.

Timothy: hypothetically what would i do if i was in park row and some guys chased me up a building

Jason’s breath caught in his throat. He had to be joking. He couldn’t actually be stupid and reckless enough to go to Crime Alley. How would he even get there? Wasn’t he supposed to be in school?

Of course he wasn’t in school. Of course he was one of those spoiled rich kids that couldn’t be bothered with school. That made perfect sense.

Jason didn’t even think about the classroom around him or the voices that now sounded like buzzing flies as he typed back: Please tell me you’re joking

Tim replied with a picture. The angle was odd, like he’d held it over the lip of a building without looking at what it was pointed at. Half of the shot was chipped brick and rusted metal. In the top corner were just parts of a few older teenagers—the head and shoulder of one, arm and side of another, feet and lower legs of a third—but it was enough to see their colors. White and Yellow. The Ivory Pythons.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Jason said, out loud this time.

“Language,” the teacher said. Apparently that was where she drew the line.

Jason knew a few kids from school or his building that had already joined up with a gang. He never wanted to, but he understood why they did it. Protection. A way to support their family. One kid who lived alone with his dying grandma actually made him think about it once. Said it got him enough money for food, heat, medicine. Said it wasn’t much different from what Jason was already doing for money, just with backup and bigger scores.

That was not the Ivory Pythons. The Pythons were brutal. The Pythons hurt people because they could. The Pythons were just as likely to kill a kid for his wallet as to take it and send him on his way.

“I’ve got to go,” Jason said, standing and grabbing his bag and books in one fell swoop. “Family emergency.”

He made it to shoving his stuff in his locker before his brain caught up. What was he doing? What did Tim even expect him to do? Why would Tim call him instead of Wayne or Alfred or, hey, how about the police? Not that the police gave a shit about what happened in Crime Alley, but they’d probably care if it was _Bruce Wayne’s_ kid in danger. Did Tim think he had some magical fix just because he was from the Alley?

You know what, he probably did. The kid was an idiot.

Okay, take a breath. Think for a moment. He should get Dick. Dick had a car and… and what? His car wasn’t even at the school—Alfred had driven them there—and were they really going to drive a Maserati into Crime Alley? Besides, what could Dick do? He’d probably panic and make a mess of things.

The police were assholes. He certainly wasn’t going to call _Wayne_. Maybe he was the best person for this after all. He just needed to find a way to get there.

His mind went to the money he’d tucked in a deep, hidden pocket of his new bookbag. Three twenties. Enough to get him and his mom through a month. Pocket change for Wayne. He’d handed it to Jason as an afterthought, a few bills pulled out of an overstuffed wallet for ‘in case Jason wanted an ice cream or something.’

The rich asshole didn’t have the slightest… but that wasn’t important right now. It was also enough for a cab. He couldn’t call one—he didn’t have a number, and he doubted they’d drive out for a kid anyway—but he knew where to find them.

Back when he hung with Jesse, before the older kid got caught and sent to Juvie, they’d occasionally take a bus to one of the fancier hotels and break into a few heavily packed cars. Some of the best scores of his life came from doing that, but it was a lot more dangerous than lifting tires in the Alley. The fancy hotels usually had cameras and security guards. After Jesse got caught, Jason decided to stick to the neighborhood. His mom was too sick for him to risk getting sent away.

The other thing fancy hotels always had was a line of taxis, just sitting around waiting to pick people up.

He opened the Maps app on his phone. It was the only one the salesperson had mentioned that he’d bothered learning how to use. He knew how useful maps could be, particularly if things went sour and he needed to get out quick. He’d already plotted the best course back to Gotham from the manor. Looked around for where they might be keeping his mom too.

As he scanned for nearby hotels, he remembered being crammed in a bus seat with Jesse. He must have been ten or eleven, trying to look inconspicuous in the crowd of tired commuters. Jesse had some brochure meant for tourists with a colorful map that made Gotham look more like Disney World than the trash heap it was. Hotels were labeled with bright blue stars. Jesse pointed at one and said, “You can tell the rich ones because they always have International, Plaza, or Renaissance in the name.” Less than a mile from the school, he found one with two out of three.

He crept down the hallway as sneakily as he could, trying to avoid cameras and teachers alike. For all the good it was gonna do him. It’s not like nobody would notice he left.

He was going to kill Tim. Okay, maybe not kill him because that would be counterproductive, but he was definitely going to punch him in the face. Maybe kick him a few times. What kind of person skipped on the first day of school? Jason, apparently. God, he really was turning into one of the rich shits.

As soon as he reached the edge of school property, he took off running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is already written, so I'm going to post it a week from today. It was originally going to be one big (monstrous) chapter, but after debating it for awhile and looking at the numbers, [Kyri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unorthodoxCreativity/pseuds/unorthodoxCreativity) and I decided 30+ pages might be a bit long for one chapter. 
> 
> Next week: Rich shits in Crime Alley
> 
> [I'm on Tumblr](http://amarits.tumblr.com)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason was in pretty good shape—not just good shape. Great shape. Pretty damn great shape—but he was still sweating like a dog by the time he arrived at the hotel. It was a hundred degrees out and his school uniform had a freakin' suit jacket. He hadn’t thought he could hate it more than when he’d looked at himself in the mirror that morning, but here he was.

Jason was in pretty good shape—not just good shape. Great shape. Pretty damn great shape—but he was still sweating like a dog by the time he arrived at the hotel. It was a hundred degrees out and his school uniform had a freakin' suit jacket. He hadn’t thought he could hate it more than when he’d looked at himself in the mirror that morning, but here he was.

He’d run most of the way, but slowed to a walk as the hotel came into view, yanking the jacket off as he did. He started loosening his tie too. He felt like he was suffocating. Did rich people never have to run? Is that why they wore shit like this? At least the line of cabs was right where he expected. The driver of the first one was leaned against the hood of his car smoking. He raised an eyebrow as Jason approached.

“You need someone to call your parents, kid?” he asked, dropping the cigarette and smashing it underfoot.

“I need a ride to Park Row.” He gave up on loosening the tie and just pulled the whole thing off and stuffed it in a pocket.

The driver’s second eyebrow raised to meet the first. “You an Academy kid?” he asked, motioning to Jason’s uniform. “I doubt you’re allowed to be gallivantin’ round the slums. Don’tcha have school?”

Jason bristled. “Listen to my voice,” Jason said, overenunciating his accent. “I’m from the Alley. There’s a family emergency, so I got out early.”

The driver gave him a long once over that made Jason’s skin crawl. In his experience, that was usually the look people used to determine how hard they could hit someone. He stiffened his shoulders and stood his ground. After a few seconds, the driver shrugged. “Ya got money?” Jason nodded. “Get in.”

Jason clambered in immediately, but the driver took his sweet time walking around the cab and climbing into the driver’s seat. Jason grit his teeth and tried to keep his temper in check. When he was finally seated, the driver asked, “What’s the address?”

He hadn’t even thought to ask. He wanted to bang his head against the window. “Gimme a sec.” He pulled out his phone and texted Tim: Where are you give me a street name or landmark

Where was the punctuation on this thing? He looked like an idiot that couldn’t put two sentences together. He clicked around on the keyboard looking for it while he waited for Tim to respond.

“You don’t know where your family emergency is?” the driver asked, watching him with a smug expression, like he’d caught Jason in a lie. Jason glowered back.

“Yeah, funny thing about emergencies is you usually don’t see them coming, you know?”

A map with a red pin popped up in his message box. That was useful. He needed to learn how to do that. He clicked on it and zoomed in. Tim wasn’t far from his old apartment. He tried to rotate the map in his head and picture which building that was. On the corner two blocks away… Wasn’t that the bodega? Tim’s photo made it look like he was on the roof, but he didn’t remember that place having roof access.

“It’s 620 Sidel Street,” he said, before the driver’s gaze could get any more unbearably self-satisfied.

The guy continued watching Jason long enough that he was starting to think he was going to have to find a different cab, but he finally said, “Alrighty then, kiddo. If that’s really what you want” and put the address in his GPS.

They pulled slowly out of the hotel parking lot. Much too slowly. Way slower than Jason thought was at all called for. His heart rate ratcheted up with every incremental movement. By the time they finally pulled onto the main road, he had a whole percussion session setting up shop in his chest. Now that he had a moment to just sit and think, he had no idea what the hell he was doing. His hand squeezed tightly around the phone and he forced his fingers to relax. That phone was worth more than everything he’d had growing up combined. What was he doing going into the Alley with a thousand dollar device? That was exactly the rookie mistake Tim had made. Heck, it was exactly why the asshole cab driver thought he was some rich kid making up stories.

He tapped nervously on the phone screen for a minute before finally texting Tim.

Jason: Are you okay?

Timothy: yes

Timothy: one of them tried to climb up after me and fell

Timothy: now they’re just yelling what they’re gonna do when i come down

Fuck, that couldn’t be good. He’d heard the kind of shit those assholes yelled, and he didn’t think Tim’s fragile lacrosse brain could handle it.

Jason: Where are you? On the roof?

Timothy: yes i climbed the drainpipe

Jason: You did what?

Jason had shimmied down a drainpipe once, while running from a gang leader that didn’t like an unaffiliated kid like Jason working his area, but Tim was a skinny little rich kid with sticks for arms. How the hell had he climbed a drainpipe all the way up to the roof?

“Not that I’m doubting you,” the driver said. Jason’s hand clenched reflexively around his phone again. “But if you were a rich kid looking for a thrill ride, maybe ‘cause of a bet or something, I’d recommend changing first. A kid in that uniform’s gonna get eaten alive. Which I’m sure you already know.”

Jason just couldn’t win. The kids at school knew immediately he didn’t belong, but this asshole was certain he was just some rich kid playing pretend. Jason opened his mouth to tell him off, then snapped it close. He might be an asshole, but he wasn’t wrong. What was Jason thinking? He couldn’t go waltzing up to the Ivory Pythons wearing a Gotham Academy uniform. They’d turn on him in a second.

Even the people who knew him...God he didn’t want them to see him wearing this. What would they think? What would _Mateo_ think? He thought of the candy still hidden in a bag in his closet.

“Actually, can we stop at…” He looked at the map again. Mama Geraldine’s thrift shop was only a few blocks from Tim. “572 Hoyt Street.”

“Not a problem, little man!” Jason wanted to punch him for the smug tone alone, but he settled for glaring at the rearview mirror. The driver winked in response.

Jason watched the meter as they drove the last couple of blocks to Mama Geraldine’s. $23.17. Might be $24 by the time they got there. With tip—Jason would never deny a tip to anyone, asshole or not. He knew how much a few dollars could mean to someone—$29. Maybe $30. That still meant he should get at least ten bucks change, and he wanted that money. His chest clenched and his breaths came quicker at the idea of throwing away even a couple dollars. But it had already been too long, and he could just see the driver very slowly doling out change while pretentiously asking if Jason was sure he wanted to be left in this oh so dangerous neighborhood, and meanwhile, Tim could be _dying_. Maybe the big guys couldn’t climb up to him, but eventually they were going to find a smaller kid they could pay a few bucks to risk their skin and climb up. The Alley was full of kids who needed money more than safety.

Tim’s life meant more than ten dollars. People were always worth more than money. When the cab pulled to a stop, he didn’t even wait for the driver to turn around and give some snarky commentary. He just shoved two twenties at him and jumped out.

***

Mama Geraldine’s was a staple of his childhood. Most of his clothes came from here or the Goodwill that straddled the border of the Alley and the nicer area to the west. Apparently Goodwill wanted the Alley’s poor people, but not the bad neighborhood that came with them. Mama Geraldine’s was right in the heart of the Alley, and the owner was one of them. Everyone he knew would rather give her money than a blank faced corporation pretending to care, but even Mama herself encouraged people to go to the Goodwill if they could get what they needed cheaper there. Everyone was just doing their best to get by.

He crept in and hid behind a rack. There weren’t many customers, luckily. He needed to grab some clothes, change, pay, and get out of there, preferably without anyone seeing him. He normally hunted through the racks for the best quality clothes, ones that wouldn’t wear out after a wash or two, but right now that didn’t matter. He just needed to fit in.

He’d found a shirt and was looking for pants that fit well enough to run in when a voice behind him exclaimed, “Jason Peter Todd, what are you wearing?”

He sheepishly turned around, automatically moving to hide his uniform with the shirt in his hands even though she’d already seen it. “Scamming rich folks?” he said.

Mama Geraldine leveled an unimpressed look at him, hands on her heavy-set hips. She brushed aside the shirt to inspect his outfit. “Where did you even get that? It’s a perfect fit.”

“Got lucky,” Jason said. “Found a bookbag with it inside.”

She gave him a look that clearly said she knew when he said ‘found’ he meant ‘stole.’ Good. As long as that’s what she thought, she wouldn’t suspect the truth.

“You’re going to have to clean that thing up before you’ll be able to scam anyone,” she said. “You look a mess. I’ve got an iron in the back if you need it.”

“Nah,” Jason said. “I’m going for the been through hard times rich kid look. ‘Help, ma'am. I just need a couple of twenties to get home.’”

She snorted. “Your fake rich kid can’t even ask for a few dollars?”

“He doesn’t realize anything less than a twenty exists.” Jason grinned at her laugh. He missed easy conversations. Every conversation he’d had in the last week had been tense, like he had something to prove, or was trying so hard to show that he didn’t. But this was normal. This was how things should be.

But then he remembered Tim and the conversation stopped being fun. He had somewhere he needed to be, and quick.

“I’m kinda in hurry,” he said. “I just need some pants.” He glanced down at his shiny loafers. “And maybe sneakers, if you’ve got cheap ones.”

“It’s your lucky day. I’ve got just the thing.” She picked some shoes out of a box of clothing waiting to be shelved. They were high-quality too—the soles barely worn down. He felt a pang in his gut. Some other kid needed these a lot more than he did. Wayne probably wouldn’t even let him wear them. He’d just have to pack them away in his trash bag of clothes, and meanwhile some other kid would be wearing shoes worn through to the heels ‘cause there weren’t any cheap, quality shoes for him to buy.

Jason forced a smile. “Thanks. Can I change? I don’t want to wear this around the Alley.”

She chuckled. “Probably a good idea.”

He changed quickly. The shirt used to have a press-on design, but enough had worn off to make it unrecognizable. The remaining swirls of color reminded him of one of the impressionist paintings in Wayne’s private museum. The pants had holes in both knees, but fit well and would be easy to run in. With the shoes on he looked like himself again. Much better than the stranger wearing a suit and tie.

He folded his uniform and handed it over the counter to Mama Geraldine when he stopped to pay. “Can you hold onto this?” he asked. He’d try to come back for it, if he could. Or be forced to if Alfred or Wayne realized it was missing. He cringed at that scene.

“Don’t leave it too long or I’ll sell it,” she joked.

He was already heading for the door, thinking through his next steps. He hesitated before leaving and glanced back at her. “That’s okay,” he said. “If you need to.”

She gave him a strange look but he was out the door and running.

***

Jason slowed as he approached the building Tim had holed up on, trying to calm his breathing and act like none of this concerned him. It shouldn’t. Just another rich kid that had wandered into the wrong area getting shaken down. It wasn’t even that unusual. He wasn’t a fan of violence, but he also hadn’t stepped in the last few times he saw something like this happening. He couldn’t even convince himself that he should have. He had his own people to take care of, and stepping on the wrong toes could get them killed. Most of those rich kids had got out fine anyway, and could cry home to daddy for a new whatever. They weren’t the ones that had to continue getting along here.

The teenagers milling around the building—four now that he could see, and maybe more he couldn’t—were all wearing the colors of the Ivory Pythons. Uppity bastards. Liked to think they were better than everyone else, and therefore everything they wanted belonged to them, regardless of who got there first. He’d lost a few scores to them over the years. A lot of people he’d fight, but they weren’t worth crossing.

The drain pipe Tim had climbed was now broken off the building and dangling twenty feet up, probably from whoever tried to follow him and fell. Near the top, where the pipe had wrenched away from the building, were what looked suspiciously like bullet holes. Had one of those fucking assholes _shot_ at Tim? He was just kid. Annoying little shit, but that didn’t make it okay to shoot at him.

He took a deep breath and forced his expression and curled up fists to relax. Then he strolled over to the nearest Python as casually as possible. “What’s happenin’?”

The guy looked him over like he couldn’t believe Jason would dare talk to him. That was fair. Normally he wouldn’t. “Kid’s got a camera worth at least a couple thou.”

Jason whistled while mentally cursing Tim. He brought his _camera_? Jason had assumed they wanted his phone. He’d be surprised every gang in Alley wasn’t sniffing around the building except the Pythons had clearly already claimed him. “If I can get him down do I get a cut?”

The guy gave him another once over, this one much more judgmental. “You’re the Todd kid, right? Looking for drug money for mommy?” Okay, the guy knew who he was. That wasn’t great. For the first time, he was glad his mom had been moved. At least she’d be safe, whatever else happened. “I’ll give you a twenty.”

Jason shrugged. “Good enough for me.” Wasn’t really a cut, but there was a lot Jason would have done for a twenty just a couple weeks earlier. Not work with the Pythons, but a lot.

He approached the building, looking for a good way up. He hadn’t done a lot of climbing _up_ buildings. Mostly he climbed down or across. The ideas were the same though. He eyed the drainpipe. That would have been his go-to way up too, but it was broken now and there wasn’t a good way to get up from where it had torn off the building. The next building over was only a few feet away though. That one had an intact drainpipe, plus large, multi-pane windows and cracks big enough to shove a hand or foot in. He changed directions and easily scaled the first couple feet by pulling himself up onto a window sill.

“Wrong building, genius,” the guy mocked from behind him.

“I’ve got this,” he replied, transferring to the drain pipe but using the heavy metal between window panes as leverage to push higher.

It was slow going, but it _was_ going. As he neared the top of the building, he heard a loud click and almost had a heart attack before realizing it was Tim’s stupid camera again. He was really going to punch that boy. Just once to get it out of his system.

He made sure he had a good grip and turned to look at the other roof. He was high enough now to see Tim crouched behind a little lip, his camera balanced on it as he took another shot. Tim grinned and gave Jason a thumbs up. Jason sharply shook his head but that didn’t seem to dissuade him.

Before they died, probably within the next thirty minutes, Jason was going to make sure that camera died first.

He focused back on his climbing and within a few minutes managed to drag himself onto the roof. That was hard freakin’ work. How the heck did Tim do it?

The distance between the buildings seemed much larger from up here, but he’d already come this far. He took a few steps back and ran. Cheers echoed below him as he cleared the space and landed on the next building, sending a thrill through him. It was almost too bad he was about to betray them. He turned to look down at the cheering Pythons and okay, wow, that was a long way down. He would have been a pancake if he’d missed that jump.

“Nice!” Tim yelled, running over to him. “Do you do that a lot?”

“No,” he said. He brushed himself off. Then he brushed himself off again. Now that he was up here, he couldn’t believe he did that. He could have died. “What the fuck were you thinking?” he asked, turning on Tim. “What are you doing here? How the heck did _you_ climb up here?” His thoughts stuttered as he caught his first good look at Tim. “Are those my clothes?” he asked. Tim was wearing threadbare jeans rolled up at his ankles and a too large t-shirt. He actually looked like he could be an Alley kid if not for the camera around his neck.

“Um, yeah. I got them out of your closet,” Tim said. “How do I look?”

Jason stared at him in disbelief. Of all the things Tim had done today, this wasn’t even close to the craziest but he still couldn’t quite believe it. “You went into my room. Into my closet. Into the trash bag I hid in the far back corner of my closet. And took my clothes.”

“I wanted to look like I fit in,” Tim said. “And I didn’t really know what poor people wore. I tried looking it up but it all seemed kind of like, overdramatic, you know? I didn’t want to look like I was wearing a costume. So I thought it would be better to go to a primary source.” Tim looked like he expected praise for a job well done.

“By stealing my clothes,” Jason said slowly.

Tim’s expression fell. “I didn’t really think of it like that.”

Jason pressed his knuckles into his eyes. Tim had been digging around in his stuff when he wasn’t there, without him knowing. He took a deep breath. He needed to find a better place to hide things. A mansion that big, there had to be a ton of places to squirrel things away.

“I’m sorry?” Tim said. At least he seemed to realize he’d done something wrong, even if he still didn’t know what.

“What are you even doing here?” Jason asked. He rubbed his hands down his face and tried to focus. He could deal with Tim stealing his shit later.

 One of the Python’s yelled something up at him and he ducked down to make sure they couldn’t see him. Tim followed suit.

“I just wanted to know more about where you’re from,” Tim hissed.

“Did you consider asking?” Jason hissed back. He wasn’t sure if they were trying to be quiet or squabbling like cats.

“I did ask!” Tim said, throwing his arms in the air. “A lot! You acted like I was doing something wrong.”

Jason felt like pulling his hair out. “It’s what you ask. And how you ask. It’s like I’m some dumb criminal you’ve gotten off your high horse to gawk at. I’m not a person to you. I’m a…” He waved his hand around wildly. “A research project.”

“You think you treat me like I’m a person?” Tim asked. His eyes were wide and wet. “I’m just some rich kid you have to put up with because we’re related. And trust me. I _get it_. That’s the only reason anyone puts up with me.”

Jason didn’t have a response to that. He sat down on the middle of the roof and flopped back to stare at the sky. Tim sat beside him.

“How long do you think we have before they copy what you did?” Tim asked.

“Not long enough,” Jason said.

They were both quiet as one of the guys yelled up at them again. Jason could almost make out the words. It sounded like he was asking what was taking so long.

Tim fiddled with his camera, turning the lens and looking through it. He turned it on Jason without warning and took a picture. Jason gave him his most unimpressed look and Tim slowly lowered the camera.

“What do you think we should do?” he asked. “You’re from here. I figured you’d have a plan.”

Jason watched the clouds lazily drifting by overhead. “Normally I’d say give them what they want and hope they let you go.” Tim clutched the camera a little tighter. “But I don’t want to risk them recognizing you and thinking they could get a much better payoff.” Or just shooting him because they felt like it.

“Or you,” Tim said.

“What?” Jason turned to eye Tim. He was sitting primly like he expected to be served tea at any moment.

“Or they could recognize you.” He worried the camera between his hands.

Jason snorted. “I think you’re overestimating my worth. The guy I talked to already knew who I am. They don’t care about some kid that grew up two blocks from here.”

“They might if they read the tabloids,” Tim said.

It took a few seconds for his words to settle, and then Jason sat up sharply. “What?”

“It was in the Gotham Inquirer this morning. ‘Bruce Wayne’s Surprise Son with Crime Alley Mistress.’ They said Crime Alley, not me,” Tim added quickly.

Crime Alley Mistress? He was going to find whatever editor greenlighted that headline and…

Then the rest of it sunk in and the righteous rage he was starting to work himself into was replaced with horror. “Did they name me?” he asked, voice croaking. How many people had already seen the article? How many still would? Mama Geraldine clearly hadn’t known. The kids at school didn’t seem to either.

“No, but they had a lot of details. It won’t be long till people figure it out. And now that one magazine’s broken the story, they’ll all be racing to get it.”

He sounded so calm and matter of fact, like it wasn’t Jason’s whole life falling apart. He’d known things were going to change, living with Wayne, but he’d thought, stupidly, that he’d always be able to go back. That he could sneak out in some old clothes and visit Mateo or Jesse or just walk around the neighborhood and everything would be the same, but it wouldn’t. It would never be the same because to them he’d be just another rich kid playing tourist. They’d never be able to look past Wayne’s money, not really, even if they tried to just see Jason and who he used to be, it would always be there in every bill they couldn’t pay, every crime they had to commit to survive, every convenience Jason didn’t even have to think about affording. The phone felt hot and heavy in the pocket of the jeans he’d bought with Daddy’s money, and oh god. They wouldn’t even want him buying things for them. He knew he wouldn’t have wanted some rich asshole buying him shit just because they could.

“Jason?” Tim asked. He sounded uncertain. “You’re breathing really hard.”

He tried to get his breath under control. There wasn’t time for this. He had to get Tim to safety. Both of them to safety. The neighborhood started shrinking around him with the realization that Wayne was right. It wasn’t safe for him here anymore.

“Jason?” Tim repeated. He reached out, but his hand hovered an inch above Jason’s skin, hesitating before making contact.

“I’m okay,” he said, focusing on his breathing. In two three, out two three. In two three, out two three. “We just… you’re right. We need to get out of here as soon as possible. We can’t let them catch either of us.”

Tim nodded. He touched Jason’s arm briefly before pulling back. Jason thought it was probably meant to be comforting. Maybe it was.

“What’s the plan?” Tim asked.

The voices below them were getting angrier. They didn’t have long before someone else tried to climb up. They might even be able to find an easier way. He’d shown them it was possible to jump between the buildings. If just one building had roof access... He stood up to survey the surrounding roofs. They might be able to use that themselves to get down, but then they’d still have to deal with the Pythons when they reached the ground. They needed a better escape plan than that.

His eyes caught on a bus heading their direction, stopped at a light a few blocks away. He knew without even looking that the next stop was a block past them, and that the bus would keep going to nicer parts of town with rich hotels.

“Do you think you could make the jump I did?” Jason asked, turning quickly on Tim, who startled at the movement.

“Yes,” he answered without hesitation.

“Are you sure?” Jason asked. “If you fall, you’ll be a Tim pancake, and I am not taking the blame for that.”

“Our brother is one of the best acrobats in the world, and he’s been teaching me stuff since I was _three_ ,” Tim said, voice more confident than Jason had ever heard it. “I can make the jump.”

Well, that explained the drainpipe. Jason looked towards the bus stop, gauging the space between buildings. “We need to go four buildings that way,” he said, pointing. “And climb down in time to catch that bus.” He pointed back at the bus that was starting to move again.

Tim nodded and jumped to his feet. He bent at the waist to do a quick stretch, which seemed like a waste of time to Jason but if it kept him from falling then Jason wasn’t going to tell him to stop.

“Ready?” he asked, when Tim straightened up. He nodded. “Then let’s move.”

He ran towards the edge and leapt. The landing hurt his ankle but he ran through it, not stopping until he reached the middle of the roof. He turned back to watch Tim, who landed in some kind of somersault. At first he thought Tim had fallen, but he popped easily to his feet at the end of the roll. “Parkour?” he said when he saw Jason watching.

“Sure thing,” Jason replied.

The yells from below got louder, and definitely sounded angry now. They must have seen the two of them jumping. Jason turned and ran for the next building. The jump for this one was shorter, but the roof was sloped. He slid backwards and grabbed a pipe to keep his balance. Exhaust pipe, probably. It would have burned him in the winter, but right now it was unused.

They didn’t have time to pause between every building, so he kept moving. He climbed up the slope and down the other side. His stomach churned anxiously, but he could hear Tim’s footsteps behind him.

The next jump was longer, and the inner roof dropped dramatically from the lip that surrounded it. He barely managed to catch himself as one foot landed awkwardly on the corner of the lip, and his momentum carried him into a two foot fall to the inner roof. His ankle definitely hurt now. He turned back to watch Tim, concerned. His roll wouldn’t work on this roof.

He didn’t need to worry. Tim landed with his hands on either side of the lip and swung down like he was jumping a fence.

“You need to teach me how to do that,” Jason said. Tim grinned back.

They had one more roof to go, and because of the lip they couldn’t make a running start. Jason climbed up and crouched unsteadily on the ledge. “It’s kind of far,” he said. “Should we climb down here?”

As he spoke, a couple of the Pythons rounded the corner, still yelling. One of them raised a gun and he jumped back just as a bullet ricocheted off the lip. _Jesus Christ_. It wasn’t his first time being shot at, but it wasn’t exactly a common occurrence either. He took deep breaths to calm his heartbeat.

Tim pointed at a wide chimney that raised six feet off the roof. “It’s high enough to give us leverage. Wider than the wall too.”

“We’re still gonna have to climb down, even if we make the jump.”

“Do you think we don’t have enough time?” Tim asked, shifting his weight between his feet nervously.

Jason looked at the bus, which was only a block away now, then down at the Pythons congregating between the two buildings. “I might not be great at climbing up,” he said. “But I have plenty of experience climbing down fast. You?” Tim nodded, straightening his shoulders and looking like a soldier preparing for war. “We’re going to have one chance to get this timing right.”

Tim nodded again. “We can do it.” His voice squeaked, but it was still strangely reassuring.

Jason took a deep breath. “Then let’s do it.”

Tim led the way up the chimney. He climbed like he had suction pads holding him in place. Jason followed his path, but his fingers ached from shoving them between broken bricks by the time he reached the top.

Tim braced himself like he was on starting blocks and took off running. One step, two, and then he leapt amid yells from below. He landed in a crouch and roll, and kept running, already climbing over the other side of the building as Jason readied himself for the jump.

Pain shot through his already injured ankle on the hard landing and he almost fell, but he forced himself to keep running. If they missed this bus, they didn’t have a backup plan. He could only hope the Pythons would just steal their stuff and leave them minimally scathed. It wasn’t much of a hope.

Tim had already reached the ground by the time Jason made it to the edge of the roof. From the way he kept glancing around the corner nervously, Jason could tell the bus was arriving. _Here goes nothing_ , he thought. He vaulted over the edge onto the drainpipe and just let himself slide down. He’d done this once before, from an admittedly much lower perch, when escaping from a particularly determined cop. He squeezed his hands and thighs around the pipe as he neared the ground, but the landing still hurt. Tim grabbed his hand just as the bus pulled into view and both of them ran straight into the opening doors. The driver didn’t even blink. He’d clearly seen some shit in his days.

“Let’s go,” Jason said. “Now, now.” He could hear the yells getting closer.

“Those boys running up might also want to ride the bus,” the driver said, voice bored.

“They definitely do not,” Jason said. He turned to Tim, “Do you have money?”

“I have _so much money_ ,” Tim replied. He pulled out a handful of tens and held them towards the driver, who looked at the bills and then at them, his expression never changing. Then he took the full handful of cash and closed the bus doors. “Have a seat,” he said.

Tim dragged Jason to the back seat and they watched out the window as the bus pulled away, the Pythons still yelling behind them. “Oh my god,” Tim said as the bus turned a corner, leaving the Pythons behind. “That was amazing.”

“You’re crazy,” Jason said. “I used to think you were dumb, but no, you’re just 100% nuthouse crazy.”

Tim laughed and leaned against him. For a few minutes they just sat there while their breathing calmed and their heartbeats settled. As the view out the window changed from rundown buildings to newer, nicer construction, Tim said, “Thank you for coming for me.”

“I wouldn’t just leave you in danger,” Jason said.

“You could have,” Tim said. “I know you don’t like me.”

“I don’t know you,” Jason said. “Clearly,” he added, remembering Tim running easily across the buildings. “You do really need to stop spying on me and taking pervy pictures all the time though or I will punch you.”

Tim huffed. “They’re not pervy.”

“Oh, now suddenly you know what pervy means?” Jason asked, amused.

“I always knew what it meant,” Tim said. “I was just messing with Dick.” At Jason’s incredulous expression, Tim added, “I do have the internet.”

Jason laughed, rubbing a hand down his face. “You’re a piece of work.” He felt Tim shrug against his arm. “I’m serious though, okay? No spying on me. No taking pictures of me without my permission. No going in my room when I’m not there. No stealing my stuff. Got it?”

Tim was silent for a few seconds before nodding. “Okay,” he said. “But will you actually answer my questions when I ask? I just want to know, really. Everyone acts like I’m too young to talk to about this stuff, but I’m not.”

“I don’t think you’re too young,” Jason said. He was a lot younger when he had to learn about all the shit in the world. “A little naive, maybe.”

“Well how am I supposed to learn if nobody tells me?”

That was fair. “Okay, but if you’re an offensive little brat I’m not going to coddle you.”

“Good,” Tim said.

Jason watched the buildings out the window. He recognized some of this from his trips with Jesse. They should probably get off soon. Should they get another cab? They weren’t in a hurry anymore and he didn’t know how much money they had left. He started thinking through bus and subway maps, trying to chart the best way back to school before remembering that he didn’t even have his uniform. He groaned.

“What?” Tim asked.

“I cannot believe I skipped on my first day of school. All those shits are going to think I confirm every stereotype they have about dumb Alley kids.”

“You still have time to go back,” Tim said, pulling out his phone to check the time. “You only missed like an hour.”

“I don’t even have my uniform,” Jason said. “I left it at the thrift shop where I got these clothes.”

Tim looked at the clothes, and then at Jason’s face. His expression went from confused to determined, and he stood up, grabbing Jason by the arm as he did and pulling him along. “We need to get off,” he called to the driver.

“There is a button for that,” Jason said, but the driver was already pulling to the side of the road. They weren’t even at a stop. Apparently bribery worked.

“What are you doing?” Jason asked as they got off the bus. Tim already had his phone to his ear.

“Alex, I need a ride. Are you available? I’ll pay you double.” Tim looked around until he found an address. “1280 Taylor Boulevard. Thank you.”

“What was that?” Jason asked as he ended the call.

“I have a list of taxi drivers willing to look the other way when I need to get around,” Tim said, showing Jason his phone. The contact was entered as Alex Taxi, like Taxi was his last name. Under that were Donny Taxi, Lisette Taxi, Marcelo Taxi, Toby Taxi, and Uriah Taxi. “Do you want it?”

“Yes,” Jason said. Tim handed him the phone and Jason started adding the numbers to his contact list. “That still doesn’t answer my question, though. What are we doing?”

“Getting your uniform and taking you back to school,” Tim said.

Jason’s thumb stopped mid-tap. “What? There’s not much point now. I’ve already missed one class. Probably two by the time I could get back.”

“So we’ll come up with a story,” Tim insisted. “Get Dick on your side if we need to. He can convince anyone of anything.”

“And tell him I was rescuing your ass from Crime Alley?”

“Jiminy Cricket, no,” Tim said. “Dick would freak if he had any idea where I went. Dad too. That’s why I called you.”

Dick had been decent to him. Way too chipper for his tastes, but nice. “I don’t really want to lie to him.”

“Then we’ll keep him out of it if we can.” A cab turned the corner and Tim raised on his tiptoes to wave at it. The car pulled over and the driver, Alex apparently, jumped out to open the door for them. He looked early 20’s at most.

“Hi, Tim,” he said. “Who’s this?”

“This is my brother, Jason,” Tim said, motioning to him. “He might call you sometime.”

“Cool,” Alex said. “I read about you.”

Jason forced a tight smile at him as he climbed into the cab. It was already starting.

The trip back to Crime Alley was much shorter than the trip out. It wasn’t just that the cab stopped less; it was like it didn’t stop at all. They slid through stop signs, turned corners before stoplights, and used the bike lane to bypass traffic. Honestly, it was a miracle nobody got hurt. As they pulled up in front of Mama Geraldine’s, Jason ducked down and looked both ways to make sure there weren’t any signs of the Pythons. So far so good.

“Wait here for us,” Tim said as he slid towards the door. “We’ll be quick.”

“Sure thing!” Alex said, already pulling out his phone to play with while he waited.

They sprinted from the cab into the thrift shop. Jason’s ankle twinged, but it didn’t seem like he’d injured it too badly. That was lucky.

The store was still mostly empty. One older woman looked up at their hasty entrance before continuing her shopping. Jason thought he might recognize her from the laundromat, but if she recognized him, she clearly didn’t care.

Jason led the way up to the counter. “Hey, Mama,” he said. “Can I get my uniform?”

“That didn’t take long.” She pulled it out from under the counter. “Who’s this?” she asked. Her gaze landed on Tim’s camera instead of his face. Jason should have told him to leave the stupid thing in the car. Too late now.

“Just a friend,” Jason said.

Tim raised a hand in greeting. When Mama Geraldine put the uniform on the counter, his brow scrunched up. “What did you do to this?” he asked. He picked up the shirt and eyed the wrinkles.

“Ran a mile to save your sorry ass,” Jason said.

“Well that’s gonna make this harder.” Tim put the shirt on the counter and tried to smooth it out with his hand.

Jason mentally winced, then turned to Mama Geraldine. “You mentioned an iron?” he asked sheepishly.

She nodded, still eyeing Tim. “It’s in the back.”

It only took a few minutes to iron out the worst of the wrinkles and change. Mama Geraldine watched them as Tim messed with his tie and jacket, trying to make him look presentable.

“This isn’t for a scam, is it?” she asked when Tim was finished.

Jason thought about lying, but what was the point? Everyone was going to know soon enough. “No,” he said, voice breaking on the short word. Tim glanced between them with interest. He didn’t get it, Jason could tell, but he knew something was up. “I found my father?” he added. He couldn’t help the uncertainty that crept into his voice. It was the first time, even in the privacy of his own head, he’d admitted this might actually be real.

She nodded. She looked sad, more than anything else. Like she’d heard someone had died. “Good luck,” she said solemnly. He wondered how much she’d already figured out. If she had seen the article and was putting together the pieces.

It didn’t really matter. He handed her the clothes he’d bought from her just an hour earlier. “You can resell these,” he said. “I don’t need them.”

Jason was quiet as they climbed back into the cab more carefully than they’d climbed out. They’d done their best, but his uniform was one bad shake away from erupting in a flurry of wrinkles. There was still no sign of the Pythons. Maybe they were still chasing the bus. More likely they were bursting into Jason’s old apartment only to learn he didn’t live there anymore.

“What was that about?” Tim asked, motioning back at the thrift store as they pulled away.

“Just another place I’ll probably never go back to,” Jason muttered bitterly. Tim looked confused but let it go. He gave Alex the address, then settled back into the seat next to Jason.

“Our best plan here is to play on people’s sympathies.” He messed with Jason’s tie as he talked, a corner of his mouth twisting downward. “It’s your first day at a new school, in a new social class, and it was all a little overwhelming. Think you can do that?”

It hit a little too close to home. His chest tightened at the reminder of everything he was leaving behind. Instead of answering he asked, “That what you would do?”

“I don’t usually bother,” Tim said, looking down at his kicking feet thoughtfully. “It’s what Dick would do though. Big puppy dog eyes, apologetic smiles. I’m telling you, he can get away with anything. I’ve seen it.”

“It probably doesn’t hurt that he’s Adonis personified.”

Tim laughed loudly and abruptly. “Yeah, probably. It worked when he was a scrawny thirteen year old too though.” Tim shot him a impish smile.

“Who you calling scrawny?” Jason asked in fake outrage, as if he hadn’t overheard Alfred making concerned phone calls to nutritionists asking how to fight malnutrition. Tim snorted.

Jason took a deep breath as the school came into view. He couldn’t deny that it filled him with a sense of dread, but he was going to make it work.

“Remember,” Tim said as they pulled up. “Puppy dog eyes.” He continued fiddling with Jason’s uniform, trying to straighten the rough edges.

Jason knocked his hands away. “I’ve got it. I still don’t think it’s going to work though.” He stepped out and brushed his hands down his uniform. Despite their best efforts, it still looked like he’d slept in it. Maybe he could claim that’s what he’d been doing. A nap while de-stressing.

They were going to kick him out and it was only his first day of school.

“It will,” Tim insisted, leaning out after him. “Puppy dog eyes.” He pointed at his own eyes and barely pulled back in time as Jason closed the door in his face.

“Go back to school!” Jason yelled after him as the car started to pull away. “You know that’s what normal people do!”

***

He’d been pretty sure Tim was bullshitting, or just plain wrong, but it really was as easy to get back into class as Tim made it sound. He went to the dean’s office with his best apologetic smiles and puppy dog eyes. He must have looked ridiculous, but the dean greeted him with sympathy. Maybe even pity. Jason had to keep a hand clenched in his pocket the whole time to keep his smile in place. In the end, the dean not only promised to erase the absences, he also walked Jason to his in-progress class and talked to his teacher for him.

It had to be because of this Bruce Wayne business. Wayne had pulled strings to get him into the school, and those strings were still taut.

He tried not to think about it in his last two classes, but his nerves were fried by the time school ended. Dick and Alfred were waiting for him by the car when he walked out, and from a distance he was sure they were judging him. There was no way the dean hadn’t said anything. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if Wayne had hired someone to follow him around and make sure he was staying out of trouble. He didn’t even notice he was slowing down until Dick yelled, “Come on, slowpoke!”

That didn’t sound angry. It sounded amused. And now that he was closer, he could see Dick was smiling.

Alfred still looked a little judgmental, but less at him than his jacket. Right. Jason suddenly wished they'd spent significantly more time ironing.

"Oh, Master Jason," Alfred said as Jason stopped in front of them. "You must learn to be much kinder to your clothes." Alfred brushed a hand across Jason's shoulder. Jason wasn't sure what that was meant to accomplish but Alfred looked displeased at the results.

He opened his mouth to apologize but Dick beat him to the punch.

"He's fine, Alf. Leave him be." Dick fluttered his hand at Alfred's arm until he pulled it back. "If the school wanted us to look perfect every day, they should have given us sweaters instead of suits."

Alfred's lips twitched. "Still."

"I'm sorry, Alfred," he said before Dick could defend him again. "I'll work on it." He wasn't sure exactly what he'd be working on—not running in a hundred degree heat?—but Alfred seemed satisfied with the response.

"Please do," he said. He opened the door to the backseat for them, which still made Jason feel so awkward. They were in public. People could see this happening. Jason glanced around to see if anyone was watching, but not only did no one seem to care, there were other drivers opening doors for other students on the same bit of road. So weird.

“How was the rest of your day?” Dick asked, raising a foot to rest on the floorboard but not yet moving to get in.

“Not bad,” Jason said carefully, just in case it was a trap waiting to be sprung.

“See!” Dick said with a grin. It _looked_ genuine. “I told you it would get better.” As he climbed into the backseat, his phone trilled the first few notes of some pop song. He barely glanced at it before continuing straight out the other side of the car. “Whoops! Totally forgot I was meeting some friends. Gotta go.” He walked backwards, waving as he spoke. “Glad school went well, Jason. Later!” Then he ran off with more urgency than Jason thought any hangout session deserved.

“That was weird,” he said as Alfred settled into the driver’s seat.

“Master Richard has quite the busy social life,” Alfred said.

As Jason watched, Dick ran straight up to a fence and flipped over it in one easy movement. Right. Busy.

He was still waiting for the other shoe to drop while he wandered the halls later that evening. He barely needed the maps anymore to find his way around. Now he was looking for secrets. Invisible cubbies. Hidden passages, if there really were any. Anywhere he could stuff a large bag without someone finding it. He didn’t fully believe Tim’s promise not to snoop anymore. Every time he found a potential hiding spot though, he imagined someone finding his bag and throwing it away because it looked like trash. His guts wrenched at the thought. Maybe he’d keep it in his closet after all.

He’d just turned back towards his room when he heard voices, one of them sharp and angry. His first instinct was to retreat. He was already backing away and looking for a different path when his logical brain caught up. There were only so many people it could be, and if one of them was going to be a threat, he’d rather know it now. He crept forward instead, keeping on his toes to make as little noise as possible.

As he approached, one of the voices resolved into Wayne’s. He wasn’t yelling, but he clearly wasn’t happy either. Jason strained his ears to hear the words.

“...even doing all day?”

The response was too quiet for Jason to hear, but he had a pretty good idea what it was about. His chest constricted. What were the odds little Timmy wasn’t giving him up right now? Maybe even blaming him for the whole thing. He crept closer until he heard, “...big deal. I already know it all anyway, and my tutors will teach me anything I don’t.”

“You only have tutors because you refuse to go to school!” Apparently this wasn’t a one time thing. “You’re so smart, Tim. You could be at the top of your class if you actually tried.” Jason couldn’t hear Tim’s muttered response but Wayne replied, “It matters for a lot of things. College applications for one. What would your mother think?”

Jason was just around a corner from them now, hand pressed hard against the wall.

“I don’t know,” Tim said, voice low and more bitter than Jason had heard it before. “Think you could get her on the phone long enough to ask?”

Jason had the sudden sharp feeling that this conversation wasn’t any of his business. He started backing up. The silence following Tim’s question was long enough that Jason suspected it was a sore spot, or at least a really awkward one. He certainly felt awkward enough just overhearing it. Had Wayne taken Tim away from his mom too? Jason still had no idea where his mom even was, or if Wayne had any intention of letting him see her again. Despite her promise, she hadn’t called. He wondered if she’d forgotten.

The pain at that thought resonated more with Tim’s tone than his anger at being taken away from his mom. Being forgotten. He stopped his retreat.

Wayne was talking again. “If you don’t improve your attendance immediately” blah blah, whatever, fuck him. Jason braced himself and started walking casually around the corner, as if their discussion hadn’t interrupted his trip back to his room.

Wayne quieted and turned to look at him the moment he stepped into their hallway, despite Jason being behind him and at least twenty feet back. Jason didn’t think he was walking _that_ loudly. Did the guy have the ears of a fox?

It didn’t matter. He wanted Wayne to notice him.

“Jason,” Wayne said. “How was school?”

“It was fine.” He waited to see if Tim, or the dean, or anyone had given him up, but apparently he wasn’t giving the world enough credit. It looked like Wayne actually didn’t know.

“I’m glad—” Wayne started, but Jason wasn’t looking at him. He was looking at Tim. He’d been smart enough to change back into the khakis and button down shirt ensemble that made him look like an _Armani for Kids_ cover model. He looked sullen, and Jason knew this was just a temporary reprieve before Wayne started lecturing him again.

“Actually, I hated it,” Jason interrupted, turning his attention back to Wayne. “The people are awful and the only thing all that money you’ve donated has paid for is a chance to hang out with the rich kids and isolate anyone not already in your little club, but sure. I’m glad _this_ is what determines my ability to get into a good college.” Wayne pursed his lips and looked ready to launch into another lecture, but Jason didn’t give him a chance. He turned back to Tim. “Yo, Timberly, wanna play cards? I’ll teach you poker.”

Tim’s gaze brightened. “ _Yes_. Is that what you did for fun in Park Row?”  
  
“Sometimes.” Rarely, but he saw the adults he was selling goods to playing often enough. He grabbed Tim’s sleeve and started pulling him along after him. “The older kids would play for money, but they also _cheated_. Actually, my friend Jesse once—”

“We are going to talk later,” Wayne said from behind them. Jason glanced back. Wayne looked more resigned than angry.

“If we have to,” Jason said.

He let go of Tim’s sleeve as they turned a corner and Tim settled into pace beside him.

“Jesse?” he prompted.

“Yeah. You’d probably like Jesse. He’s a troublemaker too.” Tim grinned like that was the greatest compliment Jason could give him. “And…” He hesitated before continuing. He didn’t really want to say this part, but honestly he’d never expected Tim to listen to him in the first place. “It sounds dumb when you say Park Row. You can say Crime Alley if you really want.” Tim’s grin brightened even more at that. Christ, he was a weird kid.

“I’ll take the responsibility seriously,” he said like he’d just been sworn in as a judge.

Jason barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “You do that,” he said. “So Jesse, not being one to worry about things like mortal danger and big beefy guys with guns, decided he was going to try and cheat one of the Maroni brothers out of his hard earned cash...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Bruce and Brucie
> 
> [I'm on Tumblr](http://amarits.tumblr.com/)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Shock waves rippled through the normally steady Wayne Enterprises tower on Thursday when a paternity test revealed that a Crime Alley teenager was Bruce Wayne’s biological son. Wayne is no stranger to children out of wedlock but this is the first time he learned about one years after their birth._  
> 
> _“He really had no idea. You could tell,” said Kristina Wilcox. Kristina was fired from her job as Wayne’s Executive Assistant after telling friends about Wayne’s indiscretion._
> 
> “She was _what?_ " He was standing before he realized it. He remembered Wayne’s secretary. A perfectly nice woman who definitely didn’t deserve to be fired for daring to tell people that he existed. What, had Wayne wanted to keep him hidden away in a cupboard under the stairs but couldn’t get away with it because his secretary had the audacity to tell someone about her day?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all the comments and kudos! The last couple of months have been crazy (everyone got kicked out of our building because of pipe problems, so we had to find a new apartment, pack, and move quite suddenly), so I haven't had a chance to respond to all of the comments yet, but I will. You guys keep me inspired and motivated.

By the end of the week, Jason was sure everybody in the world had seen the article except for him. The kids at school were definitely treating him differently. Not better, exactly, but different. Nobody knocked into him in the hallway, but that was because they were too busy judging him from a distance. Maybe they hadn’t decided what they thought of him yet. Or maybe they had, and what they thought was he was too dirty to get within two feet of.

Fuck them anyway. He didn’t care what they thought, but he did want to know what the damn article said. Tim said he saw it in the manor, but Jason couldn’t find a copy of the magazine anywhere, not even in the basket of old magazines in the library. Every other magazine from the past two months was there, but not that one. It wasn’t at any of the stores close enough to his school for him to sneak to during lunch either. ‘Sold Out’, they said, which he thought was bullshit. How was everyone managing to read the magazine if it wasn’t sold anywhere?

“You could always just read it online,” Tim said without raising his eyes from his phone as he shoveled eggs into his mouth. They heard footsteps in the hallway and he quickly hid the phone on his lap and raised his elbows off the table as Alfred walked into the room.

“Good posture, Master Timothy,” Alfred said, and Tim beamed at him. Alfred turned his gaze to Jason, who slouched over the table until his chin was almost resting in his eggs. “Yes, well, we will work on it,” Alfred said, his lips twitching.

“No Dickie and Wayne today?” Jason asked, sitting up just enough to eat.

“Master Richard is visiting friends this weekend, and Master Bruce had a long night. I’m sure he will join us later.”

Jason grunted. He’d prefer Wayne kept his distance.

Alfred refilled their glasses with orange juice, picked up an empty tray, and headed back to the kitchen. The moment he was out of sight, Tim’s phone was back in his hand and elbows back on the table.

“What do you mean I can read it online?” Jason asked, continuing their conversation from before Alfred interrupted.

“On the magazine’s website,” Tim said. At Jason’s silence he looked up. “Pretty much all magazines have websites. You didn’t know that?”

“I’ve never had a computer,” Jason said defensively.

“Oh,” Tim said.

“It’s not like I don’t know how to use one.” Jason stabbed a piece of fruit with his fork. He didn’t like Tim’s expression—shocked, bordering on pitying. “My school had a few and they taught us word processing and Google.”

“Oh,” Tim repeated, sounding if anything more distressed.

“Stop that,” Jason said. “Do you really think computers were my priority when I didn’t even know if we’d eat that week?” Okay, now Tim’s expression was definitely pitying. Jason shoved the murdered fruit in his mouth and pointed his fork at Tim. “If you don’t get that expression off your face I will punch it off.”

“Right, um, well, here, let me see your phone.”

Jason held it out but didn’t let Tim take it out of his hand. Not that he didn’t trust Tim, but that phone was worth too much to gleefully hand it over to anyone.

Tim scooched his chair over until he was pressed against Jason’s side. “Okay, so, see,” he said, clicking on an icon in the bottom corner of the screen. “This is the internet and just about everything you want to know is on it.”

“I know what the internet is, asshole.”

“I’m just being thorough!” Tim said. “I don’t know what you know.” He tapped the bar at the top of the screen. “You can type the website name here or whatever you want to Google if you don’t know the name.”

He wanted to snap at Tim again, but he actually didn’t know that last part. He knew he should learn this stuff, and that Tim was trying to help, but his tone made Jason feel like he was some imbecile who’d just crawled out of a gutter and found out electricity existed.

Tim typed ‘Gotham Inquirer Bruce Wayne son’ and a list of results came up. The first few were about Dick or Tim—his gaze caught on one that proclaimed, “Wayne Heir Skips Olympic Tryouts?”—but the fourth was about him. “There you go!” Tim said, clicking on it. “You can find basically anything like that.”

Jason swallowed as he read the headline. ‘ _Bruce Wayne’s Surprise Son with Crime Alley Mistress_ ’. Tim had said it, but it was different seeing it in print. More real. He wondered if his mom had seen this, if she was cognizant enough to even understand it. “Yeah, thanks,” he muttered, already reading the first few lines.

_Shock waves rippled through the normally steady Wayne Enterprises tower on Thursday when a paternity test revealed that a Crime Alley teenager was Bruce Wayne’s biological son. Wayne is no stranger to children out of wedlock but this is the first time he learned about one years after their birth._

_“He really had no idea. You could tell,” said Kristina Wilcox. Kristina was fired from her job as Wayne’s Executive Assistant after telling friends about Wayne’s indiscretion._

“She was _what?_ ” He was standing before he realized it. He remembered Wayne’s secretary. A perfectly nice woman who definitely didn’t deserve to be fired for daring to tell people that he existed. What, had Wayne wanted to keep him hidden away in a cupboard under the stairs but couldn’t get away with it because his secretary had the audacity to tell someone about her day?

“Jason?” Tim asked.

“Where’s Wayne’s room?” Jason asked through gritted teeth. He kept scanning the article but his brain was only registering details here and there. Someone speculating Wayne must have been looking for drugs in the Alley when he hooked up with Jason’s mom. Something about a gala the next week that nobody thought Wayne would dare bring Jason to. Of course not. He fired people who talked about Jason. Why would anyone think he’d want people to actually meet him?

Tim stood up too. His eyes kept darting towards the hallway like he thought someone else might show up to handle Jason. Bad luck for him. “I think he’s still asleep.”

“He can wake up,” Jason growled.

***

Even the hallway outside the master bedroom was way too extravagant. The room was at the end of a long hallway, but instead of a narrow rectangle ending in a simple door like a normal building, the already wide hallway expanded into a circular sitting area. It had an antique chair, a side table, and a chandelier, for fuck’s sake. Did he expect enough people to stand in line outside his bedroom that they needed a place to sit while they waited their turn? Maybe he did. Maybe he should add a _magazine rack_.

All of this ended in an arched double doorway as fancy as anything Jason had seen on the front of a house. Jason banged on it before he had a chance to change his mind. Doubts were already creeping in. Did he really want to do this here? In Wayne’s sex waiting room? And what did a long night mean for Wayne exactly because if there was a girl in there with him, Jason did not want to know.

Okay, never mind, fuck this. He turned to go, but before he could get more than a step the door slammed open. He jumped and almost tripped in his hurry to get away from it.

Wayne towered in the doorway wearing only boxers and pulling a shirt over his head. Just before it covered his chest completely, Jason saw bright red scratch marks standing out against his otherwise pale skin. Oh god, he _was_  having sex. Kinky sex, apparently. Jason did not want to think about a guy who had apparently had sex with his mom being into kinky sex.

Bruce’s eyes were ice cold and Jason’s breath caught in his throat as they landed on him. He hunched down, trying to look as small as possible before he realized what he was doing. He wasn’t the kid that hid behind furniture hoping not to be noticed anymore. He straightened up and puffed out his chest. Sure, Wayne could still pound him into the ground, but Jason wouldn’t go down easy.

After a second, the ice in Wayne’s eyes melted to something closer to confusion. “Jason? Is there an emergency?” He looked past Jason, scanning the hallway.

“Yes,” Jason said, setting his shoulders and raising his phone screen towards Wayne. “This.”

Wayne looked at the phone and his brows scrunched together. “Your phone?”

Jason turned the screen towards him. It had turned off while he was waiting. “No, I mean.” He opened it back up and turned it towards Wayne again. “ _This_.”

Wayne’s confusion cleared, but it wasn’t replaced with another emotion. Instead his face just went blank. “I see. Can we talk about this in a few hours when I’ve gotten some sleep?”

“No. We’re going to talk about it now.” Actually Jason kind of really wanted to escape right now and that would have been a good out but apparently he was incapable of accepting any offers Wayne gave him. His eyes flicked towards the open doorway. He was a little worried whoever gave Wayne those scratches was still in there.

“Fine,” Wayne said. “Come in.” Wayne wouldn’t invite him in if he had a girl (or girls. It could be multiple girls) over, right? Jason didn’t think he could handle that level of awkward.

Wayne led him into a room that was at least three times as large as the one he’d tried to give Jason when he moved in. Which meant there were a ton of places for Jason to look that weren’t the bed, and yet he couldn’t stop his eyes from slipping that way. He finally gave in and looked. Empty. Good. That was a relief. Also, it was ridiculously huge. Wayne could fit at least five girls in that bed. Jason did not think five girls big was a standard size that beds came in.

“Have a seat,” Wayne said when they reached a sitting area as big as Jason’s combo living room and kitchen back home. “I’m going to put on some pants.”

Jason’s eyes immediately flicked down to Wayne’s bare legs. He had scratches there too. And scars. What the heck kind of sexual hijinks did Wayne get up to?

He forced himself to look at the article instead. He scanned it again, slower this time, while he waited for Wayne to return. Every word ratcheted his anger back up, reminding him why he was here.

“Jason.”

He nearly threw his phone. He hadn’t heard Wayne approach at all. What kind of soundproof carpets did he have in this room? Wayne now looked surprisingly casual in sweatpants and a t-shirt. He didn’t know rich people had ever even heard of sweatpants. He looked like he’d splashed water on his face, but it did nothing to hide his bloodshot eyes and dark circles so deep they wouldn’t be out of place on a skeleton. He looked like Willis after a night of drinking and hitting people. Jason took a deep breath to push down the memory.

Wayne sat down in the other little settee chaise ottoman across from him and focused his way too serious gaze on Jason. Why was he just staring? Why wasn’t he saying anything? It took embarrassingly long for him to realize Wayne was waiting for him to speak first. Well, he _was_ the one who came barging in here.

He cleared his throat and held up the phone again, this time making sure the screen was on before showing it to Wayne. “You fired your secretary?”

Wayne’s expression didn’t change. “She revealed sensitive—”

“Because she talked about me.”

“I need to trust that my—”

“She was nice to me you know?” Jason stood up and started pacing circles around the stupid, probably thousand-dollar antique chair. “And you fired her because, what? You didn’t want people to know I existed? I’m so sorry to be an inconvenience to your perfect little—.”

“Do you want me to tell people about you?” Wayne interrupted without sounding like he was interrupting. His voice was calm and serious. “I can have a press release out by lunch.”

Jason stumbling to a stop. He didn’t exactly want the world knowing either, but there was a big difference between him not wanting people to find out and the person who was supposed to be his father actively hiding Jason’s existence, and punishing other people for revealing it.

“That’s not the point,” he said.

Wayne’s expression still wasn’t showing any emotion. Jason hated it. He couldn’t tell if Wayne was mad, apologetic, what. How was he supposed to protect himself if he didn’t know how Wayne might react?

Wayne entwined his fingers in front of his mouth and watched Jason for a few seconds before responding. When he did talk, it was slow and deliberate. “I don’t fire people lightly, Jason. She didn’t ‘talk about you.’ She went to the press and sold the story. A lot of sensitive, classified information goes through my office and I need to trust that my assistant won’t reveal it to the highest bidder.”

Damn it, that actually made sense. Jason resumed stomping around the chair. He wasn’t ready to be done being angry yet. “What about this gala they’re talking about?” he asked, waving the phone above his head. “They’re so certain you wouldn’t want me there, and apparently they’re right because nobody’s mentioned it to me.”

“The Women and Children’s Charity Gala?” Wayne asked. He sounded so hoity-toity saying the name. “I assumed you wouldn’t want to go. These events tend to be… uptight.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you don’t get to just make decisions for me,” Jason said. “You didn’t even ask.”

“Do you want to go?” Wayne asked.

“Are Dick and Tim going?”

Wayne paused before responding, but somehow it didn’t sound like a hesitation. “They’re expected to make an appearance.”

“Then, yes.” He turned and faced Wayne with his feet braced shoulder-width apart and his fists clenched at his sides. He wasn’t backing down on this. “I do.”

***

Jason had made a terrible mistake. It wasn’t even thirty minutes into the gala, and he was already regretting not just deciding to come, but also meeting Wayne, growing up in Gotham, and being born at all. He hated the tux, which for some reason needed its own fitting, despite Jason having already had his measurements thoroughly (a little too thoroughly for his tastes) taken for his school uniform. He hated how it itched at the cuffs, and how the bow tie felt like a noose wrapped around his neck.

He had no idea where Tim was. Last he’d seen, Tim had disappeared into the crowd with two handfuls of hors d'oeuvres and hadn’t reemerged. Dick was dancing with his third middle-aged woman in a row, and Jason would think it was some weird fetish except the women were clearly lining up to ask him. Which was _also_  weird. Dick was only seventeen, and those old broads needed to back off.

Wayne was the worst. From the moment they’d entered the room, he’d had a bright, friendly smile and was cheerfully chatting with people. He could hear Wayne’s loud laughter over the noise of the crowd, and what the hell was _that?_ He hadn’t seen Wayne smile this much since he’d come to the manor. He wasn’t sure he’d seen Wayne smile at all. He was acting like _Dick_  and it was really wigging him out.

Maybe it was alcohol. Had he pregamed the gala? Jason inched around a group of young women in colorful dresses, doing his best to hide behind a flared skirt as he snuck a glance at Wayne. He was gesturing dramatically with an empty champagne glass while telling what was apparently a hilarious story, judging from the reactions of the people around him. As he watched, Wayne put the empty glass down on a waiter’s tray and took a new drink, downing it all in one quick swig. So yeah, probably alcohol.

He’d rather it be that than the alternative—that Wayne could just turn on and off personalities at will. That was the kind of thing psychopaths did. Jason had barely escaped enough of them to know.

“He _is_  gorgeous,” the woman whose skirt he was hiding behind said. Jason jumped away. She was also looking at Wayne and for a second he thought she was talking to him, which, ew.

“So not worth it though,” another woman said. Jason’s heartbeat calmed. They hadn’t noticed him. He started creeping away but stopped. Why wasn’t Wayne worth it? Was it something he needed to know? “Would you really want to be his next baby mama?” Oh, right. That. All three women tittered as he escaped.

Tim had the right idea. Get food and get lost.

As far as he could tell there wasn’t a central food location. Guests had to accost one of the waiters walking around with platters to get fed. It was the rich person version of begging for loose change.

The first two waiters he tried to signal didn’t even notice him, so exactly like begging for loose change actually. The third stopped for someone standing next to him, an older lady with a dress that opened at the top like a flower. She motioned to him and the waiter startled like he hadn’t seen Jason there and then shoved the tray down at him. “Sorry, sir,” he said with real fear in his voice.

“It’s whatever,” Jason muttered as he took some cracker confection off the tray. He wasn’t sure whether to be offended because, seriously, he wasn’t that short, it shouldn’t be that easy to overlook him, or because the guy seemed so nervous. Did he think Jason was going to bite?

Judging from the way the guy hurried off, glancing fretfully behind him, the answer to that was probably yes.

“You must be Bruce’s newest,” the woman said, delicately nibbling on an hors d'oeuvre that was clearly mouth-sized.

“Technically, Tim is his newest,” Jason said. The woman laughed uproariously like he’d just completed a comedy set. Was it because he was Wayne’s kid? If she asked him to dance, he was yelling pedophile and finding Alfred.

“If you want these people to pay attention to you, you need to be more assertive,” she said. “Show them you’re the boss.”

“But I’m not the boss,” Jason said.

“Of course you are.” She turned to a waiter walking past and said in a sharp tone, “Excuse me. Bruce Wayne’s son would like an hors d'oeuvre.”

The waiter’s eyes went wide when they landed on him. Jason didn’t like it one bit. “Of course, sir. I’m sorry, sir.” He hurriedly shoved the tray at Jason.

“It’s fine,” he mumbled. He still hadn’t eaten the other hors d’oeuvre he’d grabbed, but he took another without making eye contact. The guy kept hovering so he took a bite to show that he was satisfied, and immediately spat it back out. “What is _that_?” he asked. It was disgustingly salty and slimy, and when he bit down it felt like water balloons of filth bursting in his mouth.

“Caviar?” the waiter replied, now sounding terrified.

“Clearly a bad batch,” the woman said and waved a dismissive hand at him. “Throw it out.”

“All of it?” the guy asked, voice quivering.

“Of course,” the woman said. “Do you want to serve bad caviar to Bruce Wayne’s guests? Get going now.”

Jason shook his head at the guy, trying to indicate that he shouldn’t, but he was already hurrying off.

“See?” the woman said. “That’s how you handle them.”

“Yeah, uh.” Jason searched the crowd for anyone he could use as an excuse to get away from her, and felt a burst of relief when he spotted Dick. He was standing with some redhead who was actively stripping in the middle of the ballroom. Just his jacket, but he was moving his hips like he was making a show of it while Dick laughed. “I’m going to go talk to my brother.”

“You’ll learn,” the woman called after him as he hurried away. The smirk was clear in her voice.

By the time Jason reached Dick, the redhead had tossed his jacket onto a nearby table and was rolling up his sleeves. Jason wished he could get away with that. Actual rich people were allowed to look disheveled. If Jason did, it would be because he lacked class.

“Heya, Jay. Having fun?” Dick asked as he approached. He reached out a hand to ruffle Jason’s hair, but Jason sidestepped it.

“Not even slightly. Some broad just told a waiter to throw out all the caviar.”

Both teens turned to look where Jason had come from. “Ms. Dubois?” Dick asked, not sounding nearly concerned enough. “Sounds like something she’d do.” The redhead snorted in agreement. Apparently this was just the latest in a trail of destruction she left behind her. “Don’t worry, the waitstaff know not to listen to anyone but Alfred.” Jason turned to where the waiter had hurried off to. That was a lot of food. A lot of money for a lot of food, and even if it was disgusting nobody should _waste it_. “Annnd you’re clearly still worrying,” Dick said. He put a hand on Jason’s shoulder, and Jason immediately shrugged it off. “I’ll go talk to them just to make sure.”

Dick clearly thought he was making a big deal out of nothing. He should just forget it. But he kept imagining the guy telling people Bruce Wayne’s son said they had to throw out the caviar. What happened to all the caviar? _Bruce Wayne’s son_  didn’t like it. Or the guy just throwing it out on his own and then getting fired because he should have known better, regardless of what _Bruce Wayne’s son_  had said. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to say, “You don’t have to.”

“Already doing it!” Dick said in a singsong voice as he walked backwards away from Jason.

“Bring me some of those mini brioches,” the redhead called as Dick twirled on his heel and disappeared into the crowd. Jason had no idea what a brioche was, but it didn’t sound better than caviar. “He didn’t hear me,” he continued, more to himself than to Jason. He started loosening his bow tie and Jason watched enviously. He wondered how long he’d be able to get away with not having a tie before someone would comment on it. With his luck, two minutes. Tops. “You’re Jason, right?” Jason snapped away from staring at his neck—probably like some crazed serial killer, what was wrong with him—to see the guy watching him with a bemused expression.

“What? Yeah. What about it?” He didn’t mean to sound so defensive. All the guy did was ask his name. He felt like he was in one of those fairy tales where opening the wrong door meant certain death and opening the other door probably still wasn’t good because fairy tales hated children.

“Dick’s talked about you so much I think I know more about you than my own family.” He muttered something as he tossed the tie over his jacket that sounded like, _which is good._  “I’m Roy,” he added as he turned back, already unbuttoning his top button.

“Did I miss something about this being a clothing-optional event or is that the secret party in the back?”

Roy’s fingers stilled on the button, and then he laughed. “Dick didn’t mention _that_. You’re what, thirteen? I think you’re a little young for the clothing-optional party.”

Jason’s cheeks heated up but he refused to let himself be cowed. “It would be more natural than wearing this.” He motioned to the suffocating bow tie, stiff cummerbund, and pointy-toed shoes that threatened to cut off his circulation.

“The good news is, if you don’t care about anyone’s approval, you can wear whatever you want.” He smiled and waved at a snooty looking guy with an upturned nose, who huffed and walked away at the attention. “Wilfred Molloy. Inherited a few million from his grandfather but managed to lose it all to bad business investments. He’s only still afloat because my dad bought his latest bankrupt business. He’ll gossip to his friends about my lack of decorum because it makes him feel superior but if I wasted my time caring what pompous assholes think I’d have no time left.”

Roy was his new hero. He thought about yanking off his tie and throwing it in a dramatic gesture worthy of _Gone with the Wind_ , but unfortunately he did still care what these pompous assholes thought. At least enough to prove to Wayne that he could do this and not be an embarrassment to the family name, and to prove to the assholes themselves that being poor didn’t mean being incapable of getting along.

“I’m gonna go mingle,” Roy said, apparently done stripping. He was now just wearing the tux pants and a partially unbuttoned dress shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. Jason was surprised he hadn’t kicked off his shoes. “Stay out of trouble.” He winked at Jason over his shoulder as he easily entered the flow of the crowd. “And stay away from the after-party till you’re older.”

Jason scowled after him but he was already gone. He shifted his weight awkwardly from foot to foot as he watched the guests. All of the rich people were forming groups, separating, and forming new groups like it was some kind of dance. He felt like the only character in a musical who hadn’t learned the songs.

He realized he was still holding an hors d'oeuvre, the first one he’d picked up. He hesitated, but it was a different kind than the other one and he didn’t want to waste food. He took a small bite, and okay, yeah, this was also disgusting. What the hell? All the money in the world and these people couldn’t afford cocktail weenies?

Maybe he could just leave. This was their _house_. Surely he could just walk out and go to his room.

But then he’d be admitting Wayne was right, that he couldn’t handle this. He straightened his back and strutted towards the nearest group of reasonably young people. This whole thing was supposed to be about charity. He could hold a conversation with someone about charity.

“—with some whore from Crime Alley, can you believe it?” a voice said from close enough to his right that Jason stiffened in his stride. He jerkily turned his head to look at the man who had spoken. He was in a group of middle-aged men and women, all decked out in gold and jewels from a bulky, garish necklace to gaudy cufflinks. Charity his ass. “First a circus freak, then this. At least one of his women had class.”

A couple of people nodded and murmured in assent.

“Poor Janet must be horrified,” a woman said, holding a hand to her heart like she’d witnessed a freakin’ murder. “No wonder she didn’t stay with him. I wouldn’t be able to handle those kinds of proclivities either.”

The man nodded, his jewelry jangling with the sharp motion. “He probably has a whole harem of—”

“Ah, Ronny!” a booming voice said from the other side of the group. Oh, God no. Jason started backing up and trying to walk quickly in a different direction but it was too late. “Have you met my son? Jason, come here.” Jason reluctantly moved to Wayne’s side. He still had that goofy over-the-top grin on his face that made him look like a body snatcher.

The man who’d called his mom a whore smiled back with tightly pressed lips. “Ronald, please. It’s nice to meet you Jason.”

“Yeah, it sounded like you were really looking forward to meeting me,” Jason said before his brain could catch up with his mouth. Wayne pat his shoulder. He wasn’t sure if it was in rebuke or approval. Probably the first. He was supposed to be playing nice with these assholes. He tried to smile, but he doubted it looked at all friendly.

Ronny’s (and Jason was definitely going to call him exclusively Ronny) expression fell, then was quickly replaced with another tight-lipped smile. “I should be getting back to my wife. It was lovely speaking with you.” He tried to make his retreat look dignified, but he just looked like a moody penguin waddling away.

The group watched him leave, then one woman said, “He is obnoxious, isn’t he?”

“That’s what you get from new money,” said a man.

Jason stared at them in disbelief. They’d been perfectly happy to agree with their good friend Ronny three minutes earlier. What was wrong with these people?

“I’m going to go get some food,” he said. He didn’t particularly want any, but anything was better than another minute of this conversation.

“You should try the caviar,” Wayne said as he turned away. “I’ve heard this batch is particularly good.” Jason stopped and stared at him. Was that a joke? A reprimand? A coincidence? He couldn’t parse anything in Wayne’s too bright smile.

“Yeah, sure,” he said, still waiting for any clue of what Wayne was really saying, but none came. He turned and walked away. He did not get that man.

***

He was eyeing a tray of hors d'oeuvres trying to decide if any of it looked edible when he heard someone whisper, “ _Jason._ ” He thought it was Tim at first—who else would be calling for him—but when he turned, he found a boy about his age with white blonde hair partially hidden behind a column. He looked familiar, but Jason couldn’t immediately place him. The boy inclined his head in a motion to follow and disappeared into a maze of columns and plants.

Jason was about to be either murdered or inducted into a secret society, but either way it was better than standing around here. He followed.

The boy led him back to a poorly lit alcove with a few teenagers lounging on cushioned benches and sat beside an equally blonde girl that Jason definitely recognized. She was one of the girls that knocked his books out of his arms the first day of school. Now that he had context, he recognized the boy too. He was in Jason’s math class. These were people from his school.

He almost turned and walked straight out, but one of the girls, a brunette who was a couple of years older, handed him a glass of sparkling amber liquid.

“Jason, right?” she asked with a smile that made his heart thud in his chest. “Tiffany. You’ve certainly made a splash.”

“Ha, well, it’s what I do.” Why was he _so bad_  at these things? He busied himself with swirling the liquid and watching it bubble up. “Is this Champagne?”

“We procured it from the kitchen,” Tiffany said, which Jason thought was an awfully fancy way to say stole. But then she smiled conspiratorially at him so he smiled back.

This was a test. Or an invitation. Maybe both. See if he was cool enough to hang with them. Could be a trap too, but he doubted it. They all had their own clearly drunk-from glasses. He took a sip and made a face when the bubbles immediately went up his nose.

A few of the kids laughed and Jason scowled. “Alcohol’s always worst the first time you try it,” the blonde book-knocker said.

“Isn’t my first time,” Jason said defensively. He’d snuck one of Willis’s beers once. Only drank a sip of the awful thing before pouring the rest down the drain. Still got walloped for it. “It’s just rich people food is all disgusting. You’d think you’d have enough money to buy something good.”

“What would you prefer?” the blonde boy asked haughtily. Harry, Jason thought. Or Harrison. “Steak tips?”

Jason stared at him. “If that was your attempt at naming poor people food, you failed miserably.”

They laughed again. Jason was pretty sure by this point that they were laughing at him, not with him. Like he was some zoo animal they’d brought in to study, or a monkey they’d dressed up as human and were enjoying its pitiful attempts to play the role.

But maybe he was wrong. Maybe this was how rich people made friends. And he did want friends. He tried to push down the queasy feelings and took another sip of Champagne. It was a little more tolerable on the second sip. Strangely sharp. The beer had tasted like moldy bread, but this was more like biting into a lemon.

“This what you do at these things?” Jason asked, motioning around the alcove. It was barely more than a circular indent in the wall with seating, but the way it was tucked in an unused corner, it could be hours before anyone found them. “Find a hole to hide in and drink?”

“Better than listen to our parents drone on about our trip to Paris. Again,” the blonde girl said. Harrison nodded beside her. Or Harry. It was definitely one of the two. “It wasn’t even a good trip. Cynthia’s family went to Peru.”

“At least your family could afford Paris,” Tiffany said. _Yes_ , Jason thought.  That’s exactly what he’d been thinking. These people didn’t know how good they had it. “We had to settle for _Mexico_. It’s embarrassing.”

Or not. Several teenagers made sympathetic noises, and what the fuck looking glass had Jason wandered through?

“I’ve never left Gotham,” Jason said. “I’ve never been on a vacation.”

“Ever?” Harrison asked with upturned lips like he thought Jason was making a joke.

“Yes. Ever,” Jason said, fist tightening around the stem of his glass. He was getting angry, and he didn’t know _why_. “I have literally never left this city. Actually, this, right here.” He motioned to the ground. “Is the furthest outside Gotham I have ever been.”

“Well, that will change soon enough,” Harrison said dismissively. Carelessly. Maybe he should be relieved that they seemed to care more about his current circumstances than his past, but it just made him angrier.

“Yeah,” Tiffany agreed. “The Waynes take some of the most elaborate vacations. You certainly won’t be going to Mexico.” She smiled as she said it, like he was supposed to agree and be relieved. Thank God, not Mexico. Was it racism or just not rich enough? He couldn’t tell. He wasn’t sure there was a difference.

“My best friend is from Mexico,” he said. “I’d _love_  to go to Mexico.” He put as much emphasis on the word love as he could, and for the first time she looked uncomfortable.

“I mean, it’s not bad for a starter trip,” she said, busying herself with pouring another glass of champagne.

“So what _do_  poor people do in the summer?” Harrison asked. “Watch TV all day?”

“I didn’t even own a TV.” He couldn’t stop the bitterness from seeping into his voice this time. “Or air conditioning. Sitting around’s really more of a rich person thing.” The group laughed again, and he bristled.

And you know what, maybe he did want friends, but he wasn’t _desperate_.

“Well, it’s been fun, but I’ve got better things to do with my time.” He handed the half drunk glass back to Tiffany. She didn’t meet his eyes. “Thanks for the Champagne. Have fun being assholes.”

He heard them laughing behind him as he stalked out. Well fuck them too. If they wanted entertainment they could buy an actual monkey. He was sure they could afford it.

***

He swore there were more people in the ballroom than when he left. It felt more crowded. Suffocating. He crept around the outer walls, trying not to be swallowed by the writhing mass of humanity, and caught himself against a column when he stumbled. His head felt strangely unbalanced. Was it the Champagne? He’d barely drunk half a glass. No wonder Wayne was acting like a loon if that’s what he’d been drinking all night.

Maybe that was why the other kids had been so laugh-happy too.

Not that it mattered. Jerks were jerks. He didn’t need to know their reasons. They’d certainly never cared about his. The only reason any of these people were giving him any consideration now was because he was suddenly one of them. They didn’t magically care about poor people. That much was obvious from the sham this supposed charity event was. Nothing about this was charity. It was just a bunch of people with too much money patting each other on their backs for how generous they all were, if they even remembered the charity aspect all, which, judging from the conversations he’d overheard so far, they didn’t.

Poor Tim was raised by these people. No wonder he was such an obnoxious little brat. He never had a chance. At least he was trying. He wanted to understand.

But the other kids were raised by these people too. Maybe they wanted to understand too. They certainly asked enough questions.

Jason pushed away from the column and stormed into the crowd. Maybe they could learn, but hell, it wasn’t his job to teach them. He wasn’t going to spend his life being the poor kid that helped rich people learn humanity. They could actually afford the internet and books and fancy degrees. They should look it up themselves.

He scanned the crowd for Dick or Tim and his eyes landed on Wayne laughing his ass off. At least someone was having fun. He was already walking past when he recognized the guy Wayne was with and froze.

Everyone in Crime Alley knew that face. He thought everyone in _Gotham_  knew that face, but if that’s true why would Wayne be joking with him like they were old buddies? Why would he be just hanging out at a party with not a single person giving him a second look?

Jason ducked behind a crowd of socialites before Wayne could see him and try to call him over. There was no way in hell Jason was going to go play nice, not with him.

Because that was _Carmine Falcone_ , one of the main leaders of the Gotham underworld. One of the causes of the constant gang wars that wrecked Crime Alley. One of the most dangerous men in the city, made worse by the fact that he wasn’t insane, just cruel.

And Wayne was hanging out with him. Sharing a drink. Laughing at a joke.

Were they a mob family? Oh, shit, they were a mob family. Of course they were. Nobody got this rich by being honest and good. He’d always known that. Should have thought about it earlier.

It also explained why they only had one servant, not even a maid or a cook, despite it taking dozens of people to manage a mansion. All the better to keep secrets.

He snuck from behind one group to another. Someone harrumphed as he brushed too close, but he ignored them. He needed to talk to someone. Dick or… actually, not Dick. Dick was older. Dick would be _complicit_. He needed to talk to Tim. Tim didn’t exactly go with the flow, and clearly held some grudges. He’d be honest.

He ran into someone and stumbled back, apologies already on his lips.

“Whoa, in a hurry to get somewhere?” Roy asked, catching him with his hands on Jason’s shoulders. He was smiling, but as he looked at Jason the edges slipped downwards. “Are you okay?”

“Why is Wayne talking to Carmine Falcone?” The words tumbled out unbidden, and Jason snapped his mouth shut so quickly afterwards it hurt his jaw.

“You call your dad Wayne?” Roy asked with a sharp laugh. “Cold. I usually call mine Ollie, but I should try Queen. That would really stick it to him.” Jason stared stonily at him. “Right.” He scanned the crowd until he found where Wayne and Falcone were still chatting, his brow furrowed. “I don’t know. I think Bruce’s dad once saved Falcone’s life or something? He was a doctor, you know.”

Jason didn’t know that. He also didn’t _care_  right now. “That doesn’t mean Wayne has a good reason to go around talking to mobsters!”

“Bruce talks to lots of people, especially at parties. He’s the host; he has to talk to them. I wouldn’t worry about it too much.” Jason took a breath. Okay, maybe he was overreacting. Half the people here were assholes, and that didn’t stop Wayne from talking to them. Also he was obviously really drunk. Jason snuck a glance back towards them. Falcone clearly wasn’t laughing as much as Wayne was. He maybe even looked a little annoyed. So maybe Wayne had just drunkenly latched onto the closest person. Maybe it really didn’t mean anything.

There was still the money. And the weird only one servant thing. Jason worried his lip between his teeth.

“Trust me,” Roy said. “Bruce is a good guy.” His lips quirked up. “He puts up with Dick, after all.”

Jason heard an echo of _first a circus freak, then this_  and yanked away from Roy’s hands. “What the _fuck_  is that supposed to mean? I am so sick of you high and mighty rich—”

“Whoa, whoa,” Roy said, raising his hands in defense. “It was a joke. A bad joke. Dick’s one of my best friends. I didn’t mean it.”

Jason breathed. He was too on edge. He should have known it was a joke. The party and all of its rich assholes were getting to him. “Sorry.”

“Dick’s going to love that you defended him though,” Roy continued, grinning.

Oh god, he would. He’d never let it go. Jason groaned. “Please don’t mention… it.” Roy’s arms were still up in a defensive posture, forearms and palms facing Jason. Familiar bruises speckled the path of his vein from elbow to wrist.

Roy noticed where he was looking and quickly lowered his arms. “Archery,” he said, grin stretching a bit too wide. “The string hits my arm. I should wear an arm guard, but half the time I forget.”

That was bullshit if he’d ever heard it. Jason knew track marks when he saw them. His mom tried to cover hers at first, wearing long sleeves on even the hottest days, but the last few months she hadn’t bothered. Her veins looked like constellations from overuse. Roy’s weren’t as bad, but the scars were old enough that this obviously wasn’t a new habit. His gaze flicked up to Roy’s eyes. His pupils were maybe a little small, but that could just be the bright lights in the ballroom. He was too awake to be using right now, anyway. His mom would drape over the couch and smile drowsily at him, pushing away any of his attempts to get her to eat or drink something. Not that he knew it was heroin Roy was on. Track marks could mean any number of things.

“Grandma’s Diné, you know,” Roy continued, words too rushed to sell the casual tone he was going for. “Trying to stay in touch with my heritage.” Jason didn’t even know what Diné was, let alone that Roy’s grandma was Diné, but he could recognize an attempt to deflect when he heard it. This wasn’t his business. This probably wasn’t his business. Until he knew whether or not it was his business, he could go along with it.

“What’s Diné?”

Roy’s expression relaxed in palpable relief. “Navajo. It’s our word for ourselves.”

“Huh.” He eyed Roy’s pale skin and red hair. Didn’t look Navajo to him, but who was he to say? He’d known enough mixed kids to know they could have any combo of characteristics.

He knew he should say something else to continue the conversation, but all he could think of were the track marks marring Roy’s skin, Wayne talking to the mob king of Gotham, those rich kids that he maybe didn’t give enough of a chance or maybe should have punched in the mouths, the waiter telling people _Bruce Wayne’s son_  said to throw out the caviar. The whole thing was too much for him. Roy seemed to be flagging at the lack of response too.

“Have you seen Dick?” he asked finally, instead of a dozen things that would have been a better response.

“I think he’s dancing again,” Roy said. “That’s what he spends most of these things doing.”

_What do you spend them doing_ , Jason wondered. He could see the clear path from drinking champagne in an alcove to doing drugs and he hated that he had to care. These people should be too rich for problems.

“Right,” he said instead. “Guess I’ll see you around.”

He found Dick between dance partners and stepped in front of a clearly at least 40-year-old woman that was just about to ask him to dance. Did these women not have guys their own age to harass?

“Hey, Jaybird.” What the heck kind of nickname was Jaybird? “You’re looking a little flushed. You okay?”

Jason almost laughed, the question was so absurd. He could count on one hand the number of times in his life he’d been less okay. But that would be stupid to say. He wasn’t weak enough to be beaten by a party.

“I’m fine,” he said.

Dick gave him a quick once over, then lowered his voice. “Why don’t you get out of here. I’ll cover for you if dad asks.”

It was tempting, but his guts swirled uncomfortably. He didn’t know what he was going to say until he said it. “Is Roy okay?”

“What?” Dick laughed, clearly confused by the subject change, but Jason barreled on.

“He’s got, uh.” He raised his arm to point at where the marks were.

“Oh! Ha, yeah.” Dick smiled cheerfully and it made Jason’s fists clench. Didn’t he care? “He does archery and—”

“That’s not _archery_ ,” Jason interrupted. Did people really buy the archery excuse? Apparently. “Those are obviously track marks.”

“Track marks?” Dick repeated, smile slipping but still clinging at the edges.

“Drugs,” Jason said plainly, since Dick was oblivious. His smile fell the rest of the way. “Do you really not know about it? He said you were one of his best friends.”

Dick searched the crowd until he found Roy and watched him for a few seconds before replying. “I, uh. I’ll talk to him. Go get some rest.”

The last bit felt like a gibe. Go get some rest and maybe you’ll stop imagining silly things like drug use and track marks. He was right and he knew it. And you know what, he decided. This _was_  his business. Maybe if someone had done more for his mom early on, things would have been different.

“Dick,” Jason said before Dick got more than a step away. Dick turned back to look at him, expression conflicted. “They’re track marks. _Trust me_. I’ve spent enough time with an addict to know track marks when I see them. Don’t let him tell you they’re not.”

Dick’s expression lost its uncertainty and became determined. He nodded. “I trust you, Jay.”

This time Jason let him leave. He felt the stress that had been building all night leaking out like air escaping a balloon. The whole thing still sucked, but at least he’d done something to make it worth being here. And now he had permission to leave so he was sure as fuck was gonna do that.

A woman tried to talk to him on the way out, but he ignored her. He ducked under the ropes that cordoned off the guest areas from the rest of the house and his remaining stress released in a whoosh. He’d done it, he’d proven himself to Wayne, and now it was over.

He headed towards the smaller kitchen, the one not used for guests, to see if he could dig up some food. Luckily he knew where every kitchen was because of Dick’s detailed food treasure maps.

He was a couple hallways away when he heard what sounded like cartoon fight noises. He ducked his head into a side room. Tim was sitting cross-legged on the couch playing some kind of game. His character was fighting monsters with a glowing sword.

“Is this where you’ve been all night?” he asked after Tim defeated the last monster.

Tim glanced up at him. “Not _all_  night. I snuck back in for food a few times.”

“I didn’t realize that was an option.” Jason flopped onto the couch next to him and Tim scooted over to give him more room.

“Do you know how to play?” Tim asked. It took Jason a second to realize he meant the game.

“Only game I ever played was Mario Kart, and that was years ago.” A friend of a friend had a GameCube. He was really popular until it broke.

“I have Mario Kart!” Tim said, exiting out of his game.

“I didn’t mean—” but Tim was already switching games. Jason accepted the controller handed to him as the start screen came up. These weren’t the graphics he remembered.

He glanced sidelong at Tim as he scrolled through the character choices. “So, why’d you skip the party? I thought those were your people.” He could play a ghost? Cool. Definitely doing that.

Tim hunched up, focusing too intently on the screen given that he’d already chosen his character and car. “They always want to talk about my mom.”

“And you don’t want to?” Jason asked cautiously.

“No.”

Jason had questions, but he figured if Tim didn’t want to talk about his mom to them, he certainly wouldn’t want to talk about her to him. “Okay, so how do these controls work?” he asked instead. “I don’t even remember the controller looking like this.”

Tim gave him a small smile and leaned over to explain the controls.

***

“How did you do that?” Jason yelled. “You can’t dodge blue shells! That’s not how the game works!”

“You didn’t know how the game worked at all two hours ago,” Tim said. He leaned with his full body as he swerved onto a shortcut, practically lying across Jason’s lap for a second before jerking back up for a turn in the opposite direction.

“Yeah, and now I know that’s impossible so stop doing it!”

Tim grinned as he flew across the finishing line in first place. Again. Jason cursed. He was getting closer, but still couldn’t quite catch Tim.

“Let’s do the Leaf Cup again,” he said. “At least you miss the shortcuts sometimes on that one.”

“That first jump is hard to make,” Wayne’s voice said from behind them. Jason jerked away from the unexpected presence, then hunched down protectively. He thought he was better at noticing people coming than that, but the game was really loud. And maybe he was starting to let his guard down a little. Stupidly, probably.

Wayne’s tie was undone and top buttons unbuttoned, so the party must be over. He’d also lost the manic grin. Maybe the waiters cut him off. His smile was probably creeping them out too.

“Jason, can I talk to you for a minute?” Wayne asked, inclining his head towards the hallway.

Here it comes, Jason thought as he stood up and followed. The smug told-you-sos and maybe a punishment for leaving early. Sure, Tim left early too, but Jason was the one with something to prove. His shoulders hunched more with each step until he was practically the hunchback of Notre Dame.

Wayne turned to face him in the hallway, expression serious. “You did well,” he said.

_What the hell?_  Jason straightened up so quickly to stare at him he got a crick in his back.

“Much better than I expected,” he continued, because of course. He couldn’t just compliment Jason. He had to append an insult onto the end there.

“What did you expect?” Jason asked. “For me to yell at a few people and then go streaking through the ballroom?”

Wayne gave him a pointed look. “I don’t think yelling would have been out of character.”

“Fuck you. You don’t know me.”

Wayne rubbed a hand down his face. “This isn’t supposed to be an argument. I’m trying to say that you did well and I’m proud of you.”

Jason narrowed his eyes. He was sure there was still an insult buried in there somewhere. Proud for what? Not being himself? Not embarrassing the family?

“I know that couldn’t have been easy for you,” Wayne continued, “especially with some of the things people were saying, but you handled yourself well.”

“So, what?” Jason asked. “‘Handling myself well’ is not standing up for myself? Just letting people walk all over me?”

“No,” Wayne said sharply. Jason flinched, then quickly schooled his expression. He didn’t want to show Wayne any weakness. “It’s not rising to the bait. People are going to talk badly about you. Heaven knows they talk badly about me. It’s only going to get worse if you try to fight them. That doesn’t mean you can’t stand up for yourself.” A smirk danced across his lips. “I thought you handled ol’ Ronny boy perfectly.”

Oh. Apparently Wayne had heard what Ronny said. And then greeted him with a huge smile. He didn’t know how he felt about that. At least when people were yelling you knew where you stood with them. The idea that all those people were just constantly talking behind each other's backs while smiling to their faces made his guts twist uncomfortably. How was he supposed to ever know who he could trust?

“Yeah, well, maybe they deserved to be yelled at,” Jason said.

“They often do,” Wayne said with an obnoxiously sage tone of voice. What, was he going for a wise-man-on-the-mountain act? Trying to appear understanding? He couldn’t understand. He was _one of them_.

“Stop it,” Jason spat out. “Stop trying to act like you’re better than them. You were right there with them.” Wayne opened his mouth to respond but Jason steamrolled over him. “This was supposed to be a charity event, but nobody cared about anything except looking rich, acting rich, and getting along with the other rich people. Every person there could feed all of Crime Alley for a year without sacrificing a single luxury, but they don’t care about anything but themselves. You included.”

Wayne was silent. Good. Maybe he’d go away and Jason could get back to figuring out how to beat Tim.

“The gala raised 2.3 million dollars,” Wayne said, voice even. Jason knew that tone. It was the one people used when they were right on the edge of lashing out. He braced himself, but stood his ground. “We have a charity division that handles the distribution of funds, but perhaps you’d like to sit in on the meeting where they decide what to do with the money from this gala?”

That. Was not what he expected. He faltered, and Wayne seemed to notice. His voice softened.

“I know it might not have looked like it in there tonight, but we are… I am trying to help people.” He raised a hand as if to put it on Jason’s shoulder but stopped when Jason stiffened. He slowly lowered it again. “You have a better idea than me what would help people the most. You’ve lived it. I’m sure the charity division would appreciate your input.”

He shrugged, not meeting Wayne’s eyes. “Yeah, okay. Maybe.”

He thought he saw Wayne smile out of the corner of his eye, but when he looked fully it was gone. “Good,” he said, as if he’d completed a business deal. Fucker.

“If we’re done having a moment, can I get back to kicking Tim’s ass?” he asked.

“If you think you can,” Wayne replied.

“Hilarious.”

Tim was flipping through the vehicle options with stats open when Jason walked back into the parlor, apparently trying to build a super vehicle. Just what he needed.

“Stop it,” he said, vaulting over the couch to land next to Tim. “You’re already beating me by enough.”

“I’m just looking at my options,” Tim said, in that prim voice he used when he was being a little shit.

“You’re trying to destroy me.”

“That too.”

Jason became aware of Wayne leaning against the couch behind him moments before he spoke. It was creepy. He shouldn’t hover like that. “Mind if I join you?”

Jason scowled, wanting to say yes, he did mind, but Tim was already answering. “Where’s Dick? We should invite him too.”

“I think Dick’s still with his friend,” Wayne said. Tim typed a text on his phone so quickly that all Jason caught before he was putting it away was ‘Mario’.

Jason wondered if Wayne meant Roy. He must. That was… better than expected, if they were still talking. Jason hoped it went well. He hoped it made a difference.

“Is Yoshi taken?” Wayne asked as he grabbed one of the spare controllers. They had eight of them. Jason didn’t think it was even possible to play with eight controllers at the same time.

“Of _course_  I’m playing Yoshi, Dad,” Tim said.

“I’ll be this rainbow-haired fellow, then.”

“You know that’s Lemmy. Don’t act like you don’t.”

Jason slowly relaxed. At the very least, he’d probably be able to beat Wayne. He’d better be able to beat Wayne. If not he was going to dedicate himself to pushing Wayne off of every cliff the game had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [Kyrianne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unorthodoxCreativity/pseuds/unorthodoxCreativity) for betaing and being all around awesome.
> 
> For the record (with warnings for graphic content and blood):
> 
> Archery injuries: <https://i1.wp.com/blog.3balls.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/09/stringslap.jpg?resize=826%2C532>
> 
> Track marks: <https://farm1.staticflickr.com/134/382019657_1d47ed7cc6_z.jpg?zz=1>
> 
> Coming up next: Okay, but seriously, are they a mob family? Jason needs to know.
> 
> (Talk to me on [Tumblr](http://amarits.tumblr.com))


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason’s second day at the manor, Alfred had told him that “Master Bruce’s” study was Wayne’s private workspace and was not to be disturbed. Jason immediately marked it as where to check for bodies. He’d read _Bluebeard_. He knew how these things worked.
> 
> He’d never actually looked though. He didn’t really think Wayne was killing people and hanging their dismembered corpses on the walls. If anything, it probably held evidence to all his tax evasion and paid-off women. He was starting to wonder though. He’d been wondering since the gala.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy slightly over a year anniversary of this story, guys! Since the last update we passed 1,000 kudos (not to mention 350 comments), which is amazing. I've written stories for four different fandoms over a period of years and I've never had anything like this response. You guys are awesome. Thank you again.

Jason’s second day at the manor, Alfred had told him that “Master Bruce’s” study was Wayne’s private workspace and was not to be disturbed. Jason immediately marked it as where to check for bodies. He’d read _Bluebeard_. He knew how these things worked.

He’d never actually looked though. He didn’t really think Wayne was killing people and hanging their dismembered corpses on the walls. If anything, it probably held evidence to all his tax evasion and paid-off women. He was starting to wonder though. He’d been wondering since the gala.

Sometimes Roy’s explanation made sense. Bruce was the host. He was drunk. He cozied up to people he didn’t like all the time, if good ol’ Ronny was any indication. So he talked to some mobster. _The_ mobster. Big deal.

And then Jason walked in on hushed conversations that silenced the moment he entered the room or witnessed Alfred doing yet another job that really belonged to a whole household of servants. And he wondered. He kept wondering.

So he was thinking about the study. He even tried to peek in once, but the door was locked and he hadn’t quite reached picking-the-lock levels of paranoia yet.

The manor was big enough that the study wasn’t on the way to anything, but he’d been taking a circuitous path to pass it while walking between his room and the library for the last few days. He didn’t know what he hoped to accomplish. For a place that was supposedly Wayne’s ‘private workspace’, there never seemed to be anyone in it.

Which was why he didn’t notice Tim hunched up outside the door until he was practically stepping on the little armadillo. He was so used to there being nothing to see that he was barely looking. Tim raised a finger to his lips before Jason could even open his mouth to ask him what he was doing. Then he registered the muffled voices coming through the closed door.

“I don’t care what you do with your life, Dick, but you have to do something.” Jason stiffened. Wayne’s voice was more wooden than angry. That controlled tone he used instead of emotion. “Go to the Olympics. Go to college. Do _something_.”

“I’m already doing something,” Dick sniped back. “This _is_ what I want to do with my life.”

Jason took a sharp breath. He didn’t know what they were talking about, but he certainly knew what it _sounded_ like. He knew plenty of kids that went into the ‘family business’, regardless of how their parents felt about it. He glanced at Tim. The kid was curled in on himself, arms wrapped around his legs and chin on his knees. He looked upset, but not surprised. This wasn’t a new argument, then. Not exactly comforting.

“I never should have let you—”

The rough laugh that grated out of Dick’s throat sent chills down Jason’s spine. “You didn’t _let_ me do anything. This was always my choice.”

Okay, yeah, this was… He didn’t know what else he _could_ interpret it as. He searched his mind for any other possible explanation. A hobby Wayne didn’t like? He didn’t know what hobby wouldn’t fit Wayne’s definition of doing something. Miming maybe? Was Dick secretly a mime?

Jason took a deep breath. Why was this a thing now anyway? Dick was only a junior. Except that was old enough to be applying to colleges, wasn’t it? Maybe he’d missed some big deadline?

Wayne’s tone still hadn’t changed. Judging from Dick’s growl while Wayne talked, it annoyed him as much as it would Jason. “I took the liberty of talking to Princeton’s president on your behalf.”

“No, Dad,” Dick said sharply, like he was disciplining a dog. “I don’t want you talking to any college presidents ‘on my behalf.’ I don’t want to go to college.”

“Which was fine when you were pursuing gymnastics, but you decided not to go to the tryouts.” Jason’s mind flashed back on the headline he’d seen while looking up articles. _Wayne Heir Skips Olympic Tryouts_. Apparently that wasn’t bullshit.

“You know why—”

Wayne spoke over him. “After I paid for your flight and hotel room.”

“You know—”

“Which wasn’t fair to your teammates, who were expecting you to—”

“You _know why_ I did that!” Dick practically screamed.

Both of them lapsed into silence. Jason didn’t know what to think anymore, except that he did not want to be caught listening to this. He tugged on Tim’s arm, trying to pull him up, but the kid was like a boulder.

Bruce cleared his throat. “The president is willing to review your application personally.”

Dick didn’t bother responding. The door slammed open, causing Jason to jump and twirl guiltily around to face it. As it slammed shut again behind Dick, Jason positioned himself as much in front of Tim as he could. Dick’s face was twisted into an ugly snarl, fury alight in his eyes. Jason braced himself for when that anger focused on him, but the moment Dick saw him it fell away. His eyes widened and he quickly plastered a fake smile across his face. It wasn’t even slightly believable.

“Hey, Jay,” he said, voice faux casual. “Everything okay?”

“Yep!” Yep? “Just heading back to my room from the library.”

Dick turned towards the library, then towards Jason’s room, clearly pulling up a mental map, pasting some geometric shapes over it, and coming to the conclusion that this was not a logical path to take. Jason didn’t give him time to think about it. He kicked his heel back into Tim’s side. Then, making sure to keep Dick’s focus on him, he walked past Dick down the hallway in the opposite direction. “Anyway, nice seeing you Dickie. Got things to do.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Dick called after him.

“Nope!” Nope? “See yah.”

Tim joined him a couple of minutes later. Jason didn’t know what shortcuts that kid used, but he just appeared out of side hallway and started walking next to him, not even slightly out of breath.

“Thanks,” he said quietly.

“No problem.” Jason shoved his hands into his pockets, replaying the argument and Tim’s hunched position outside the door. “They do that a lot?”

“Not a lot, a lot.” He bit his bottom lip and pulled on it. “More than they used to.”

“What’s that about anyway?” Jason tried to ask it casually, but his voice cracked halfway through. Tim just shrugged, the unhelpful little asshole. Maybe it wasn’t a mob thing. Maybe it really was just about Dick skipping the Olympic tryouts, which, first off, what the hell? Jason could actually understand Wayne being annoyed about that. It was the _Olympics_.

But then he remembered Dick saying,'I am doing something. This is what I want to do.’ What was ‘this'?

Okay, he had to stop and just think about this for a minute. Did he really think that Dick, Dickie Wayne, the serial smiler with a treasure map to all the manor’s food, who had a crayon drawn sign on his bedroom door, would be involved in the mob? He tried to imagine Dick with a gun or torturing some guy and it was actually really freaky because the Dick in his mind wouldn’t stop smiling the whole time.

“Okay, just be straight with me,” Jason said before he could decide it was a bad idea. “Are we a mob family?”

Tim barked out a surprised laugh, and turned to look at him with a lingering, bewildered smile. That was probably a good sign. “No? What?”

Jason started counting off on his fingers. “Wayne was talking to Falcone at the gala.” Tim opened his mouth but Jason kept talking over him. He’d already heard Roy’s explanation and didn’t need to hear it again. “There’s only one servant managing an entire mansion, which is ridiculous. My mom worked at a hotel. I know how much work it is to clean, and cook, and everything that goes into maintaining a place this size, and it’s not like you can’t afford a cook or a maid. And it’s not just this conversation. It’s a dozen conversations I haven’t quite heard. Dick and Wayne are up to _something_.” Tim’s mouth snapped shut. Jason twirled on him and pointed an accusing finger. “See, that’s what I’m talking about. What is _that_?”

“It’s not…” Tim said, trailing off without saying anything. Jason was ready to start pulling his hair out.

“If we’re a mob family, you legally have to tell me,” he pushed.

Tim laughed sharply. “I’m pretty sure that isn’t true.”

Jason made a frustrated sound and slowed to a stop. His room was the next hallway over. And he did think of it as his room now. He’d been here almost a month and it was starting to feel… normal. But maybe it shouldn’t. Maybe he should get out while he could. He still didn’t know where his mom was, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have options. He could stay with Mateo’s family, or strike out on his own somewhere else. He had the skills to get by in pretty much any big city.

“Jason,” Tim said. Judging from his scrunched eyebrows and protruding bottom lip, he was finally taking Jason’s question seriously. “We’re not a mob family. Believe me, I’d know.”

Jason did believe him. If there was one thing he knew about Tim, it was that the little asshole had no respect for privacy. He probably heard every secret conversation that happened in this place.

Still. There was something. And if there was anything Jason knew about _somethings_ , it’s that they usually turned out to be bad.

***

Jason lay in bed with a map open on his phone. He didn’t know what he was looking for. Where his mom might be, maybe. Where he’d go if he left. Mostly he looked at escape routes. They were 11.6 miles from the edges of Gotham. 11.6 miles was a long way to walk. He should ask for a bike.

He flopped onto his back. Who was he kidding? He wasn’t going to leave. Not when he didn’t know where his mom was. If she was even okay. He’d like to think Wayne would at least tell him if she died or something, but what did he know? Sometimes Wayne seemed okay, like he was actually trying, but a lot of the time the guy was completely unreadable. Jason didn’t know what he really felt or thought. It was just as likely to be bad as good. Maybe more likely.

He rolled onto his other side and looked at the clock. It was almost 11:30 and at this rate he wasn’t going to be falling asleep anytime soon. He had to stop thinking about this. He had school in the morning, and it was hard enough to put on the ridiculous uniform and go interact with all the snobs when he was fully rested.

Think about something else, something neutral. Like a book plot. Like _Watership Down_. He’d just finished that one. He’d started it once before, when he was way too young. He’d picked it from the library for his mom to read to him because of the cute animals on the cover, but she’d stopped the first time blood was drawn. He’d been so upset, and she’d wrapped him in her arms and told him a different story about the Warren that she must have made up as she went along. For a long time, he didn’t even realize it wasn’t the real story.

Fuck. He pressed a pillow over his face. He definitely wasn’t falling asleep. He wished he knew where his mom was. He wished she’d call. He wished he at least knew she remembered him. That she still cared through the haze of drugs and withdrawal.

He slowly breathed in and out, mouth filling with the lavender scent of his pillows. He didn’t know if it was the laundry detergent or if the pillows themselves were stuffed with lavender. He’d never heard of that, but he was learning to never doubt what ridiculous things rich people would decide to do.

He threw the pillow to the side, nearly knocking over an ugly silver lamp that could probably pay his college tuition, and pushed out of bed. He stopped at the door to put on the ridiculously fluffy slippers that had just appeared in his room one day. He thought he should be embarrassed to wear them, but they were luxurious and if he ran away he was taking them with him. Besides, the floors in the manor were freezing. Either the air conditioning was on way too high, or the floors were haunted. Either seemed equally likely.

He trudged out into the hallway. He didn’t have a plan, but he found himself walking towards Dick’s room anyway. All the paths on his map led there, so he’d started thinking of it as the center of the manor, even though it was actually to the far right. Maybe he’d swing by Dick’s room and then head to the kitchen. Or the movie theater. Honestly, he wasn’t sure he could remember how to get to the movie theater without passing by Dick’s room first.

As he turned the corner towards Dick’s room, he noticed that the door was wide open. He tamped down a surge of nerves. Dick _would_ be the type of guy to sleep with his door open, exposing himself to the world. It just seemed like an invitation to get murdered to Jason.

Except when he glanced in, Dick wasn’t there. His bed was a tangled mess of sheets and blankets and definitely no Dick.

Knowing him, he probably slept in a hammock hanging from the ceiling—Jason glanced up. Nothing—or in the bathtub. He toed into the room, darting his head around to look at every dark corner. The further he went in, the harder this was going to be to explain when it turned out Dick had just gotten up for a piss. _Yeah, Dickie_ , he thought as he crouched to look under the bed, _I just thought you might sleep in a cave like a vampire. Why was I trying to watch you sleep? Good question_.

He wasn’t there. He wasn’t in his bed, or under his bed. He wasn’t on top of his dresser. He wasn’t in his bathroom. He wasn’t even in his bathroom cabinets, which Jason knew because he’d checked, because he was turning into a _crazy person_.

Maybe Dick was just getting a snack or in the library. Maybe he had a test tomorrow. But Jason had a niggling suspicion that lead him to Wayne’s door, navigating the dark hallways with only his thudding heartbeat to accompany him.

He hesitated before knocking. What if he was wrong? How would he explain being here? He could say he was worried because Dick wasn’t in his room, but what if Dick had snuck out? He wasn’t a snitch. Maybe he could just say he couldn’t sleep. Christ, that would be awkward.

He could ask about his mom. He should ask about his mom. He glowered at his feet. Yeah, that's what he would do. He would demand to know what was going on with his mom. Now he kind of hoped he was wrong and Wayne was there and he could demand to know where his mom was and when he was going to see her. He banged on the door and waited for a response.

The last time, Wayne had come quickly. This time, nothing. He waited a few minutes and tried again. Then again. After the fourth time he opened the door.

Empty. Fucking empty. Dick and Wayne were out somewhere at 11:30 on a weeknight. Or maybe they were getting a snack. Together. Maybe they were in the study or the library or working out.

Together. At 11:30. On a weeknight.

He stomped back by Dick’s room and checked to make sure he hadn’t come back, and then started a round of everywhere they could possibly be. Everywhere that could even slightly make sense.

For some reason he checked the movie theater first. Which was stupid, but he was planning on going there anyway. Then the library because it was close.

When he rounded a corner to the family kitchen and saw a light, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. There was a logical explanation. He was being ridiculous and overreacting. Again. He still didn’t know why they were up, but they were just in the kitchen. It wasn’t that late. Maybe they didn’t sleep much.

He entered the kitchen to find Tim, alone, kneeling on a bar stool at the counter. He hadn’t even thought to check Tim’s door.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

Tim jumped and nearly slipped off the bar stool, steadying himself at the last minute with a hand on the counter. His eyes darted to Jason and his tight shoulders immediately relaxed. Apparently Jason wasn’t the one he was worried about catching him.

“Just making a snack,” he said, going back to smearing a huge amount of jam across an already dripping piece of bread.

“Big snack.” Jason crossed to the other side of the counter from Tim as he pressed the jam-covered bread against an equally loaded peanut butter side. A large glob of peanut butter and jelly mix fell onto the counter and Tim ignored it in favor of sticking his sandwich in a little baggie.

“I’m hungry,” Tim said, sliding off the stool and just leaving the glob there. Maybe he was getting a paper towel? He didn’t seem to be getting a paper towel.

“Really?” Jason asked. “Judging from your size I wouldn’t think you were ever hungry.”

Tim scowled at him. “Dick was small at my age too.”

“Dick’s still small. I wouldn’t put my hopes too high. Are you going to clean that up?”

Tim blinked at him completely uncomprehendingly so Jason pointed at the mess. Tim turned and blinked at it uncomprehendingly.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Jason grabbed a towel and cleaned off the counter. There were also crumbs everywhere. If Tim thought he was being sneaky, he was very wrong. There was no way Alfred wouldn’t notice this little midnight snack.

“Thanks,” Tim said awkwardly when Jason finished, like he wasn’t sure if he should say thank you or not. Honestly, it was an improvement.

Jason sat at the counter and spun on a stool, looking around the mostly empty room. His eyes narrowed as he remembered why he was there. “Do you know where Dick and Wayne are?”

Tim shook his head. “Out?”

“Out where? Doing what?” Jason asked.

Tim shrugged. “I don’t know. Working? Or with friends? Why?” Jason glared at his knees and Tim said, “Oh. You’re still worried about the mob thing.”

“I don’t think it’s unreasonable,” Jason said, hackles rising. “They’re out who knows where doing who knows what at 11:30 on a weeknight! It’s not normal.” Tim had that look he got sometimes when Jason said something wasn’t normal and Tim was comparing it to his life experiences thus far and disagreeing. Jason sighed loudly. “It’s not, okay?”

“Okay, but I promise it’s not a mob thing,” Tim said. “There are lots of reasonable explanations.” Jason grunted. Not a lot of reasonable explanations _he_ could come up with. “Hey, why don’t we go out too?”

Jason gave him a sharp look. “What? No. That’s not how this works.”

“Why not?” Tim asked, talking faster as he warmed up to the idea. “We can go out and have our own little adventure while they’re doing whatever they’re doing.”

“We have school in the morning.”

“So?”

For the first time since entering the kitchen, Jason slowed down his overactive thoughts and actually looked at Tim. He wasn’t wearing pajamas. He was fully dressed. With _shoes_. There was a backpack beside the counter with his camera case in it. He’d stuck the sandwich baggie in a lunch bag. That wasn’t a midnight snack. That was something to eat on the go.

“You were already going to go out,” he said slowly. “What the hell?”

Tim didn’t meet his eyes, instead inspecting a blender like he was debating maybe bringing a smoothie along on his midnight jaunt. “Maybe.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed, you know that? Where were you going to go?” Hopefully he was just going to hike around the manor grounds a little. That wouldn’t be too dangerous. Even if there were probably coyotes in some of the untamed parts.

“Just into the city a little,” Tim said with this forcefully casual tone, like he could convince Jason this was perfectly normal by sheer force of will alone.

“Into the _city_?” Jason sputtered. “What the… how were you even going to get there?”

“Cab.” He shrugged casually, and it would have looked almost normal if he didn’t keep shrugging casually over and over again.

“I can’t believe this,” Jason said, covering his face. “Don’t you remember what happened in Crime Alley?”

“I don’t go to the bad parts of the city,” Tim said. Jason wanted to snap at him for insulting his neighborhood, but there were more important things right now.

“Do you do this often? What do you even do in the city?”

Tim shrugged again. The more times he did that, the less casual and more serial killer it became. “Climb buildings and take pictures.”

“Climb… Jesus fucking Christ on a tricycle. Does anyone know you do this? Of course they don’t. What am I saying? I’m going to tell Wayne you do this.”

“No, you aren’t,” Tim dismissed with complete confidence. He was right. Jason wouldn’t narc him out to Wayne.

“I’ll tell Alfred,” he said instead and Tim stilled. That threat he believed.

“Come on, Jason,” he pled. “I’m completely safe. Come with me and I’ll show you.”

“No.” Jason shook his head so hard he thought he might wrench it straight off. “I’m not going and you’re not either. Jesus Christ.” He thought of the gunshots he heard while curled up under his covers back in the apartment he grew up in, of the nice prostitute upstairs that just didn’t come back one day, of the kids that disappeared without a trace. And that was without being _Bruce Wayne’s_ kid. The fact that Tim had already done this multiple times was terrifying.

Tim pouted but sat down, and Jason relaxed. He wasn’t going out. This time at least. He just had to figure out how to keep Tim from running off future nights. Maybe he could show the kid documentaries about Gotham’s ridiculously high crime rates.

“Isn’t there anything you’d want to do?” Tim asked, slumping over the counter.

Jason’s thoughts went to his mom unbidden. He didn’t know if Wayne was ever gonna let him see her again. Probably thought he’d be better off without her. He sneered at the thought.  “Nothing you could help with,” he said.

Tim raised his head off his arms to look at Jason. “Try me.”

“I want to see my mom.” It was the first time he’d actually said it out loud since coming here, and he felt both relief at the admission and a torrent of grief that he’d been holding at bay. He wanted his mom. He wanted to feel like he hadn’t lost everything that mattered to him. He wanted his friends, and the apartment he grew up in, and for life to feel like it made sense, but even if he could never have any of that back, he wanted his mom.

“You haven’t seen your mom?” Tim asked, sitting up completely.

“I don’t even know where she is.” He pulled out a drawer on the counter just to slam it. Every time he thought about it, he wanted to throw things. Or curl up in bed and just not think anymore.

Tim blinked wide eyes at him. “I do.”

Jason took a sharp breath, then held it. “What do you mean you do?”

“I heard Dad talking about it.”

“You were spying.”

Tim shrugged, which was as good as confirmation, but for once Jason didn’t care about Timmy’s voyeuristic tendencies. “Where?”

Tim didn’t answer immediately, instead chewing on his lower lip. “What if I showed you?”

“Are you seriously trying to use my mom to get me to do what you want?” Jason growled, shoving up to his feet.

“No, no!” Tim said quickly, horrified. He jumped to his feet too and waved his arms in the air in front of him. “I’m not! I’ll tell you either way, I promise, just… we could go there, and I could show you that I’m completely safe, and you could see your mom, and everybody wins!”

“I don’t believe for a second that you’re completely safe,” Jason said automatically, but he was considering it. Who knew how long she be there, if she even still was. Who knew when Tim got his information. Wayne could move her at any time. _Especially_ if he found out Jason knew where she was. And it would be hard to sneak out during the day. Too many people around. He already knew Dick and Wayne were out, and if Tim really had done this before, then he knew how to get in and out without notice. He was the best chance Jason had of seeing his mom without getting caught.

“Fine,” he said. Tim jumped up with a grin, and Jason pointed a finger at him. “But I still might tell Alfred what you’re doing. This is _dangerous_ , Tim, whether you think so or not. I don’t want you going out by yourself anymore.”

Tim shrugged, which was not at all an agreement. He’d push the point later.

In twenty minutes he was dressed with a small backpack of supplies, including a long, thin knife from the kitchen. Not the best weapon, but better than nothing if someone tried to grab them. Tim led the way to a back corner of the manor and out into an attached greenhouse. Then he started wiggling open a window.

“What are you doing?” Jason asked. The greenhouse was warm and damp, with pinpricks of water gathering on his skin, but he could already feel the chill creeping through the window Tim was working open.

“Most of the doors and windows have alarms on them,” Tim said. “But that door doesn’t because it’s not to the outside and this window doesn’t because it’s not to the inside. It was overlooked.” He strained to push it up a few more inches. “Also, I’m not sure it’s supposed to open.” He finally managed to wrench it up to the halfway point with a grunt. He pulled a metal chair over and climbed up onto the seat to easily slip through.

“You really have done this before,” Jason said as he followed him. He was bigger than Tim and got caught on the frame, but managed to squeeze through. Tim stood on his tiptoes to close the window behind them.

“I got caught a lot before I worked it out. Come on.” He lead the way towards the overgrown forest at the back of the property.

“Shouldn’t we be going that way?” Jason asked, pointing towards the street.

“Too many cameras that way. It’s better to walk to the neighbor’s yard and then to the street.”

Jason was starting to feel like he’d been taken under wing by a master burglar. He was pretty sure most kids didn’t have to go through all this to sneak out. He wasn’t even sure if Tim really needed to go through all this or if it was part of a grand fantasy he was making up in his head.

They walked for what felt like forever before turning towards the road. Jason couldn’t tell if they’d crossed the property line, but Tim was certainly acting like he knew what he was doing. He kept looking up at the sky and at passing trees like he was an old timey explorer navigating by stars and which side of the tree the moss was on.

As they approached the road, Jason could see a cab already idling there. At the exact spot they were heading to. Jesus, Tim really did already have it all worked out. He started changing the estimate in his head of how many times Tim had snuck out from a few times to _way too many times_. What kind of cab driver was willing to pick up an eleven-year-old at midnight and drive him away from his house into the city anyway?

As they hiked up a grassy incline to the curb, he recognized the same guy who had driven them into Crime Alley tapping his hands rhythmically on the steering wheel. Apparently that kind of person.

“Hey, Alex!” Tim said as he opened the door and slid in. “Jason’s with me this time.”

Jason followed Tim in. “You have no morals, do you?” he asked.

Alex just grinned over his shoulder at Jason. “Nice to see you again too, kid.”

“We’re going somewhere a little different today,” Tim said, leaning forward on his knees to show Alex an address. Alex tapped it into his GPS, and Jason subtly typed it on his phone at the same time. It came up as a live-in rehab facility. That at least sounded right. The pictures on the website looked nice, but there wasn’t a lot of information.

He squeezed his phone as they drove. He was distantly aware of Tim and Alex making small talk but he couldn’t register the words. They were going to his mom. They were maybe going to his mom. He wasn’t completely sure he trusted Tim yet, but he didn’t think Tim would lie about this. Strangely, the more he learned about the messed up shit Tim got himself into, the more he trusted him. At least he knew what ways Tim was wrong. Everyone else was hiding it.

The drive was short, the roads mostly empty this time of night. Alex pulled up in front of a skyscraper and leaned forward to look up at it through the windshield. “You want me to wait here for you?” he asked. It made Jason feel a little better that Tim’s driver didn’t just happily abandon him in the city and drive off.

“Hmm,” Tim said as he thought about it. “You don’t have to wait right here, but stay nearby? I don’t know how long we’ll be.”

“Sure thing, kiddo,” Alex said. “Call when you need me.”

Tim hopped out of the car and started striding purposefully around the building. “She’s on the twenty-first floor,” he said as Jason followed. “So we need to find a way to get up.”

“I hear they invented these things called elevators just for that,” Jason said, trailing behind him and looking up at the building. It was nice. White stone and large windows instead of the standard ugly brick. It looked like the higher floors even had balconies.

Tim shot him a look over his shoulder. “There are people inside, Jason,” he said like Jason was the stupid one. “They’d see us.”

“So what’s _your_ grand idea?”

Tim entered an alley beside the building and jogged forward when he apparently spotted what he was looking for—a rickety metal fire escape. He jumped at the wall, rebounding off of it, and grabbed the lower edge of the fire escape’s ladder. It didn’t immediately come down, so he wiggled until it slowly lowered with a loud shriek of grinding metal.  

“No,” Jason said. “Just no. You know people would see our broken bodies after we fell twenty floors too, right?”

“We aren’t going to _fall_ ,” Tim said, already climbing the ladder to the first landing. “There are _stairs._ ”

Jason looked at the stairs in question. After the first ladder, stairs zigzagged back and forth between platforms for each floor. It certainly looked steadier than the fire escapes he’d grown up with, but that didn’t change the fact that Tim desperately needed to be referred to the country’s leading child psychologist posthaste.

“It’s _fine_. Don’t be ridiculous,” Tim said, jumping up and down on the first step.

“For fuck’s sake, stop testing fate and just wait for me,” Jason said. He tested his weight on the ladder, pulling down on the rung to see if it was steady. It shook more than he’d like but didn’t seem about to fall.

Jesus F. Christ, this kid was going to get him killed. If not now, soon enough for his obituary to still call him tragically young.

He took a deep breath, let it hiss out through his teeth, and climbed.

They walked up the first few flights in silence. The stairs were taller than he was used to and by the seventh or eighth floor his thighs were starting to burn. Tim seemed as bouncy as ever. He was in better shape than his skinny ass suggested. He kept peeking in windows and twisting to stare up at the barely visible night sky.

The fourth time he did it, Jason said, “If you’re trying to stargaze, you’re going to be severely disappointed.”

“Oh, ha,” Tim said. “No, not stargazing.” He looked up again, then down at his feet as he climbed the next flight. “You should talk to Dad, you know.”

“I don’t think that’s ever true,” Jason muttered.

“I mean it,” Tim said. He stopped at the next landing and waited for Jason to catch up. He didn’t seem at all out of breath, which was terribly unfair. Jason needed in on whatever exercise routine Dick had him on. “I don’t know what’s going on with him and your mom and—” He waved his hand in wild circles. “But I’m sure he’s not keeping you from her on purpose.”

“Then what is he doing?” Jason asked harshly, breaking the sentence halfway through to breathe. Fuck, he didn’t want to talk about this when he was too out of breath to argue.

“I don’t know,” Tim said. “But he wouldn’t do that.”

Jason sneered. “I don’t know about that, Timmy. I haven’t seen _your_ mom around.” He hadn’t asked. He’d kept not asking because it wasn’t his business, and it was clear nobody wanted to talk about it, but hell if it wasn’t relevant.

Tim’s eyes widened and he took a sharp breath. Then his face closed down. It was like he was trying to mimic Wayne’s robot act, but not quite succeeding. Tears bloomed at the corner of his eyes. “That has nothing to do with dad.”

“You sure about that?” Jason asked. Because he wasn’t. Tim was a baby when he came to the manor. He didn’t know what happened behind closed doors when he was too young to remember.

“Yes,” Tim spat vehemently.

“So, then where is she?” Jason pressed.

“I don’t know,” Tim said. He turned and stomped up the steps to the next landing. “Somewhere in South America, I think,” he said loudly enough to be heard over the percussive metal ringing. “Enjoying not having a kid slowing her down.”

Jason followed slowly after him. Tim stopped halfway across the landing and stared out at the thin sliver of road they could see between buildings. Jason stopped beside him and leaned on the railing. Headlights passed by in eerie silence. Up here, they couldn’t hear anything but wind whistling through the narrow alley.

“Everyone tells me she’s just busy,” Tim said, talking out into the night instead of to Jason. “Or...I don’t know, something. She owns her own company. She works hard. She travels a lot. But I know the truth. She never wanted me and I got in the way.” Jason wanted to say he was sure that wasn’t true, to reassure Tim in some way, but he got the idea Tim was tired of reassurances. And the truth was, he wasn’t sure that Tim’s mom cared. He knew better than to think every mom was good.

Tim slowly started walking up the stairs again, no longer stomping, but not bouncing either. So softly Jason almost didn't hear it, he said, “At least your mom had a good reason to give you up.”

Jason had to say something. He had to say _something_. It had already been too long, and the silence weighed heavier with each step he took. Finally, he croaked, “Tim.” Tim twisted to face him, one foot up a step. “Fuck her. She doesn’t deserve you.” Elegant Jason, real elegant.

Tim laughed roughly and wiped an arm across his eyes. “Thanks.”

They kept trudging upwards. After a few more floors, Jason was breathing too hard to speak even if he had something to say. He focused on raising one foot after another. Left, right, left, right. They had to be getting close. He could hear Tim muttering under his breath every time they reached a new landing, and was pretty sure he was counting, but he couldn’t hear the numbers.

The building next to them suddenly fell away and beyond its roof he could see the cityscape. That was worse. In the narrow alley, he couldn’t really look down and freak out. With the buildings and streets around them more visible, he could tell just how high they were. He held tightly to the railing for the next flight.

Then the whole fire escape rocked with one of his steps. He clung with both hands to the railing and stared at his foot wondering what he’d done for a good three seconds before he heard Tim say, “Oh,” and looked up.

Something very brightly colored was perched on the railing of the next landing. Some _one_ very brightly colored was perched on the railing, head jerking back and forth between them at an alarming rate. Jason couldn’t see his eyes past the mask, but the way it was stretched taught from cheekbones to forehead suggested his eyes were wide.

“What?” he said. “What are..? How..? _What_?!”

Jason had never met Robin himself, but he’d always gotten the idea from people who had that he was better spoken than this.

“What are you _doing_ here?” he asked, finally managing to sputter together a full sentence. Jason was already creeping back down the stairs, but he didn’t think he had much of a chance of running down fifteen flights of narrow stairs before Robin could catch him, and Tim wasn’t even making an effort to move. He’d hiss at Tim to follow if he thought he could without Robin hearing.

“Oh, hello,” Tim said. “It’s nice to meet you. Um. We’re good, thank you.”

Did he think he was at a _cocktail party_ refusing service from a _waiter_? Robin wouldn’t care that they were “good, thank you.” He’d care that they looked like they were _breaking into a building_.

“You’re good? You’re on the outside of a skyscraper! On the… the… the seventeenth floor! At one in the morning!”

“I did say we should take the elevator,” Jason said before his brain caught up to his mouth. Robin’s full attention immediately turned on him. And God, did he look ridiculous. If Jason hadn’t heard more than one story of people getting their asses kicked by this fashion-blind monstrosity he’d probably be in danger of laughing himself right off the fire escape. As is, he stood very still and tried not to look like he was resisting arrest.

“Shhhh,” Tim said, and Robin’s gaze immediately swung back to him. It was both a relief and nerve wracking. He’d rather Robin’s attention be on him than Tim. Tim was smaller and really, really stupid sometimes.

He braced his shoulders. “We’re not doing anything illegal,” he said. He didn’t actually know if that was true. Was climbing outside buildings illegal? It might be trespassing. He tried to sound confident anyway. “Leave us alone. Go stop a crime.”

Robin’s mouth opened and closed a few times like a creepy ventriloquist doll. “I’m not worried you’re _doing something illegal_. I’m worried you’re going to get hurt!”

That sounded suspect to Jason but he went with it. “We’re fine.”

“You’re eleven and thirteen!” Jason blinked at him and Robin immediately added, “Roundabouts, I assume.”

This all made way more sense suddenly. Robin knew who they were. Read the tabloids, probably. No wonder he was worrying about them instead of beating them up.

“Right,” Jason said. “Well, we’re all good and kind of busy so shoo.”

Tim had a hand over his mouth and wide eyes. Jason couldn’t tell if he was amused or horrified. Maybe a mix of both. That was probably the same way Jason was going to feel in about two hours when this was all over, assuming it didn’t end in them falling to their deaths or jail.

“I… okay, no. I’m taking you two home. Right now. Immediately. I am not leaving two children out here on their own. At one in the morning!” He was really sticking on that one in the morning thing, which was fair, Jason supposed, except he probably would have been more concerned about the seventeen floors up thing himself. Then again, this was a guy that regularly jumped off buildings.

He saw Tim out of the corner of his eye sneaking backwards to position himself more behind Robin and really hoped he wasn’t going to try to knock Robin out or something equally stupid. Then he realized Tim had sneakily taken out his camera and was snapping pictures of the two of them. Of course he was. That kid had no sense of self-preservation.

“And if we refuse?” Jason asked.

“I’ll call Batman,” Robin said.

Jason scowled. It was a good threat. Batman would be way more likely to beat them up and leave them hanging from a light post for the police. He’d seen it happen, one guy dangling from his ankle, swinging and screaming while a buddy tried to help him down. Everyone ran and abandoned him to his fate when the sirens started though.

“Jason just wants to see his mom,” Tim said. He looked nervous at the mention of Batman. Maybe he had some survival instincts after all.

“What?” Robin asked.

“His mom,” Tim said, pointing up. “She’s on the twenty-first floor. Room 2112.”

Robin turned to him slowly. Jason couldn’t tell what he was thinking behind the white lenses. His face was still, barely moving. “You haven’t seen your mom?” he asked.

Jason didn’t see why it was any of Robin’s business. Tim must have thought it made them more sympathetic though. He shook his head.

Robin’s face stayed completely still for thirty more seconds before deteriorating into a look of pure fury. Jason took a step back. He was about ready to grab Tim and run, but Robin said, “Stay here,” and jumped off the fire escape.

He’d just left them there. Did he actually think they’d stay? Jason immediately started back down the steps but stopped when he realized Tim wasn’t following.

“What are you doing?” he hissed. “Come on.” Tim just stood there looking at him confused. “Now’s our chance, you idiot.” He jumped up the steps two at a time to grab Tim’s hand and pull, but Tim pulled back.

“He said stay here.”

Jason had to remind himself that Tim had no idea how the world out here worked to keep himself from snapping. “This is our best chance to escape.”

“We’re just going to get in more trouble if we run!” He lowered his voice. “He’ll tell Batman.” He said it like Batman finding out was the worst possible scenario, and Jason was prone to agree.

“There’s no proof if we get out of here though. Call Alex and—” He cut off when the fire escape jolted again. He quickly dropped Tim’s hand and tried to look like he’d been innocently standing around waiting.  

Robin didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. He just climbed down and put an arm around Jason’s waist. “Okay, I found her. Hold on tight and I’ll take you to her.”

“Wait, what?” He wrapped his arms tightly around Robin even though he’d much rather be pulling as far away as possible. He didn’t want to fall to his death because he didn’t follow instructions fast enough though. “We can’t climb the stairs?”

“She’s not even on this side of the building,” Robin said. “I don’t know what you were gonna do when you reached the twenty-first floor.”

Jason looked at Tim, who just shrugged.

“Stay here,” Robin said, pointing at Tim. “Don’t move an inch or I’ll know.”

Tim nodded and stood like a toy soldier, all straight backed and arms at his sides. Jason was sure the second their backs were turned his camera would be back out.

Robin jumped off the fire escape and Jason shrieked embarrassingly before he felt the line of Robin’s grapple hook catch. This was insane. He couldn’t believe it was actually happening. For the first time, he wondered if it was all an ultra realistic fever dream. That didn’t sound as unlikely as it should.

They swung in a wide arc around the building, leaving Jason’s breath far behind them. He knew he should close his eyes and embrace the safety of darkness, but instead they were wide open and… wow. The city flew by in a blur of lights. If it wasn’t so terrifying, it would be pretty amazing.

Robin must have pressed some kind of button on the grapple hook, because they zipped quickly upwards and landed on a solid surface. Jason’s knees almost gave out when they touched down, but Robin held him steady. They were on one of the balconies. A nice, solid, ground-like balcony. He had the urge to drop to his knees and kiss it.

Then he saw the room through the large, glass doors. It was nice. As nice as the pictures made it look. Comfortable looking furniture. Soothing art on the walls. Not crazy big like the rooms back at the manor, but still bigger than their little apartment. And his mom, asleep in a bed. He stepped forward and touched the glass. She was just a few feet away.

“We should probably let her sleep,” Robin said.

He got the idea that if he pushed it, if he insisted on going in right now and waking up his mom and hugging her, that Robin wasn’t going to stop him. But he didn’t push. He just wanted to know she was okay, and she probably did need her sleep.

“You’ll see her again soon,” Robin said, stepping up beside him. “I promise. I’ll make sure of it.”

Jason didn’t think Robin could make that promise. What was he going to do? Beat up Wayne? Sneak Jason out of the manor himself? But his voice was so sincere and determined that Jason believed him.

Robin leaned down so that they were eye level, face as earnest as it could be when half covered with a mask. “But you need to promise me that you’re not going to sneak out again. It’s really dangerous out here at night.”

Jason couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up. He knew. He’d just made that same argument to Tim an hour ago. But he wasn’t going to tell Robin it was all the eleven-year-old’s idea. He nodded.

“Okay.” Robin didn’t make any move to leave. He didn’t even suggest it. But Jason didn’t want to leave Tim alone for too long, even if he could have sat here all night watching his mom sleep. She looked okay. She looked healthy. She looked better. He was good with that.

“We can go now,” Jason said.

Robin nodded and bent down to hold him tight as he readied the grapple hook again. This time, it felt less like a death grip, and more like a hug.

***

Five minutes later they were standing with Tim at the curb, waiting for the Batmobile. Robin had assured them that Batman wouldn’t be in it—Jason had even heard him call in that he’d found a couple of kids and was borrowing the Batmobile to take them home—but he’d believe it when he saw it.

“How’d you get out here anyway?” Robin asked.

“Walked,” Tim said immediately. Robin eyed him suspiciously and Tim added, “It took a really long time. We left at like ten.”

Robin looked down at their shoes, looking for, what? Evidence of wear? It was stupid. Of course they hadn’t walked twelve miles. But when Robin turned to him, Jason said, “What he said. The walk sucked. Thanks for giving us a ride home.”

Jason didn’t think for a second that Robin believed him, but he stopped asking questions.

When the Batmobile arrived, Robin ushered them into the backseat. It was spacious like a limousine. Even had a refrigerator of drinks that Tim immediately raided, without even waiting for Robin to leave. Brave kid. Stupid, but brave. Jason was a little more interested in the heavy glass separating them from the front seats and the lack of handles inside the doors. It was fancier than most cop cars, but this was still a place they put criminals.

“If I put in the coordinates for your house, can I trust you to get yourselves back inside?” Robin asked. He was still looking at Jason like he was the ringleader of this whole thing. Jason shrugged. “It’s either that or I walk you to the front door myself, ring the doorbell, and tell everyone what you did.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jason said. “Nobody will be there.”

“ _Alfred_ will be there,” Tim said between sips from the juice box he’d found. Why the heck did Batman have _juice boxes_? How many of the criminals he picked up were children?

“Doesn’t Alfred have his own home to go back to?” Jason asked.

“No,” Tim said. He scrunched his brow and sucked on the straw until the juice box was crumpled in and grinding. “I mean, I don’t thinks so.”

“Do you need me to take you home personally?” Robin asked.

“No, we’re good, Bird Boy, thanks,” Jason said, distractedly waving him away before turning on Tim. “How do you not know if Alfred lives in the manor? You’ve known him your entire life.”

“It’s never come up?”

Robin smiled, a strangely fond expression. “I’m going to check on you later.”

“Sure, if you want to be creepy about it,” Jason said.

He got the distinct impression that Robin was rolling his eyes, and then he closed the door. A few minutes later the car started running. Tim watched out the window until Robin was out of sight before pulling his phone out of his pocket. He opened Alex Taxi and texted him: got a different ride home thanks

As soon as the text was sent, Tim deleted it from his phone.

“I think I was worrying about the wrong family members,” Jason said as Tim put his phone away.

Tim laughed. “What, you think I’m a mobster now?”

“No, but you’re clearly a born criminal.”

Tim held a hand to his heart. “I promise to only use my powers for good.”

Jason snorted. “Yeah, right.”

Tim rustled through the fridge and pulled out two more juice boxes, handing one to Jason. Jason caught a glimpse of the inside before the door shut. There were waters, soda, actual bottles of juice. Tim was choosing the juice boxes on purpose. Jason laughed and stabbed the straw into the box. He hadn’t had one of these since he was six or seven. He wondered if Tim had ever had one. He had trouble imagining that Alfred had ever allowed juice boxes in the manor. Poor Timmy had probably grown up on only freshly made juice in solid gold sippy cups. He certainly seemed to be enjoying the juice box, if the way he sucked the whole thing empty in one long gulp was any indication.

“Did you see your mom?” Tim asked when he was done.

“Yeah,” Jason said quietly. “Thanks.”

Tim smiled down at his empty juice box. “Anytime.”

Jason believed it.

***

He felt like he was going to die the next morning. It was after two by the time he settled down enough to sleep and Alfred had woken him up at 6 a.m. sharp. He was never letting Tim convince him to do anything ever again.

He remembered the image of his mom sleeping peacefully and smiled. Maybe he’d take it on a case to case basis.

He ran into Dick on his way to breakfast. Dick looked awfully energetic for someone who still hadn’t been home when Jason got back. He’d checked.

“Morning!” Dick said in a singsong voice that Jason was not awake enough to handle.

“Morning,” Jason muttered. He glanced sidelong at Dick as they walked. “Where were you last night?”

Dick didn’t hesitate at all before responding. He didn’t even seem surprised to be asked. “At my girlfriend’s place. Don’t tell Dad.” He winked.

“Wayne wasn’t here last night either.”

Dick rolled his eyes. “Dad was probably also at his _girlfriend_ ’s place.” He put a different emphasis on girlfriend this time. A fling then, or a one night stand.

Jason could believe it. He’d wait a few days to see if he did believe it.

Dick stopped outside the dining room and held a hand in front of Jason to stop him without touching him. “Hey,” he said softly, the stupid smile falling off his face. “You know you can talk to me right? About anything? If something’s bothering you?”

“Does it seem like something’s bothering me?” Jason asked.

“Yes, it does,” Dick said seriously.

Jason looked towards the dining room’s double doors, then down at his feet. After a minute, he asked, “When am I gonna see my mom?”

Dick’s gaze turned to steel. Jason remembered the argument from a few days ago. He still didn’t know what it was about, but he knew Dick didn’t just go along with whatever Wayne said. That was… a relief, actually. No matter what else was going on. “Let’s ask Dad right now.”

Jason smiled, already feeling a weight off his shoulders. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that answers a question I've been asked every chapter since the beginning. Anyone surprised? 
> 
> Next chapter: Reparations?


End file.
